


Down this Chain of Days

by ViaLethe



Series: Love Keeps Her in the Air [2]
Category: Firefly
Genre: F/M, Families of Choice, Family Drama, Meeting the Parents, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-28
Updated: 2012-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-30 05:58:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViaLethe/pseuds/ViaLethe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Mal and River, 'happily ever after' takes some work - especially when people from their past keep turning up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Having Chosen, So Defined

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to my earlier fic _No Power in the 'Verse_ ; this takes place about six months after the end of the first fic, or a little more than a year post-BDM.

_**Part I: Relation**  
I. Having Chosen, So Defined_

If she was asked, River knows, she would not be able to _define_ the life she leads now. Certain things have labels in her mind, markers to remind her of relation. _Serenity_ is _home_. Simon is, of course, _brother_ , and Kaylee _sister_. Zoë and Jayne are like _aunt_ and _uncle_. And there is Mal; Mal who has become so much he is _everything_. River herself is _nebulous_ ; she has changed like the sea, flowing in and out all at once, replacing herself a bit at a time, until she is just the same but utterly new, both in the same skin.

There are less substantial presences on board as well, still echoing through her brain at times. Metal makes an excellent conductor, and _Serenity's_ memory runs deep, speaking to River of those lost. If heroes are those who get others killed, their boat is the home of _legends_ , holding their victims still in her shell.

River accepts their voices as a form of penance, remembering them in _atonement_ , for surely she is the biggest hero of all, deaths achieved in pursuit of her unbidden goal weighing on her mind. And now that Mal, who made the decisions based on her knowledge, shares her bunk as often as not, the _memories_ have grown all the louder.

Tonight it is only Wash, and so River does not mind; she misses him most. And often enough, his _memory_ causes as much amusement as grief.

_Beds are kinda small, aren't they?_

She looks up from where her head is pillowed on a sleeping Mal's chest, her body half on top of him to fit into the restrictive space. She knows perfectly well there is nothing to see, but if she ignores one voice, she fears _forgetting_ , ignoring those who actually exist, and spreading worry through _Serenity_. So River looks up out of habit, to maintain her fabric of carefully woven _trust_.

“They are inconveniently sized,” she says absently, wondering if the firefly's designers had possessed the same attitude towards shipboard romance that Mal once had, made the crew beds tiny for a purpose.

“What's that, darlin'?” Mal mumbles, stirring beneath her.

“Nothing,” she says, snuggling back against him once more. “Was just telling _Serenity_ of certain flaws in her design.”

“Mmm. Don't you go bein' mean to my ship now,” Mal says, still clinging to sleep.

She smiles as he shifts and wraps an arm around her, seeking more comfort than the narrow bed has to give. She still wonders, from time to time, if her brain has wrapped her once more in _illusions_ ; if she could possibly be living with enough luck to be free, safe, and beloved all at once. If she could have been chosen, in turn, by this ship and these people to become an essential part of their whole.

River could not define her life here, if asked, because she knows too much; knows that to admit _perfection_ does nothing but tempt fate to alter the balance.

***

He's got a hard time, some days, knowing the right word to define her. He's fair certain he's long past the days of having a _girlfriend_ , the word _partner_ never brings to mind anybody but Zoë, and _lover's_ a term so full of sap it makes his teeth ache. Mostly, though he's not like to admit it, he thinks of her as his _lodestar_ , a guide and a touchstone. It's taken him these last six months to arrive at this definition, but he finds, looking down at her standing in the cargo bay with Kaylee, it's got a nice sound to it.

Course, sometimes she's more of a mischievous distraction, never so much as when she's been chatting with Kaylee. Not that he minds the pleasing new ways River brings to bed with her after she's had one of her talks with that girl – far from it – but still, some things a man likes to keep private.

They've got the doors open, and here on Persephone, that means a fair amount of noise coming in off the crowded docks, but he still manages to get himself close enough to listen to what his girls are on about.

“-so then you just gotta take it and shove it on in there,” Kaylee's saying, using her hands for emphasis.

“Really?” River responds, her brow wrinkling. “It fits there?” She tilts her head, measuring out a space in the air with her hands and gazing into it.

“Oh, yeah,” Kaylee says. “It's just a matter of how much you wanna-” She cuts herself off, as Mal's found a sudden need to put himself between them. “Hey there, Captain,” she manages, her eyes going all wide as she holds back what he's pretty sure was a giggle in the making.

“Hey yourself,” he says. “What are you girls chattering 'bout now?” He turns to River, lowering his voice. “You know what I told you about how some things are just between us, right?”

She narrows her eyes. “You have a dirty mind, Malcolm Reynolds,” she announces, looking between him and her hands, still held apart in the air. “And a poor grasp of measurements.”

“We were talkin' 'bout doing some rewiring on the grav thrust, Cap'n. Gets to be a pretty big tangle of wires for the space,” Kaylee comments from over his shoulder, grinning. “Why, what did you think we were talkin' about?”

“Wiring?” he says, backing away with a speed that just might impair his dignity a tad. “Right. Of course. I'll just...leave you to that, then.”

Walking across the space in search of people who ain't currently giggling at him, Mal sees Simon coming in from the infirmary, intercepts him. “Morning, doc. You got any supplies you need to pick up here in town, take your time, I figure on us being grounded here few days at least.” Expecting a response, he's a bit put off when Simon just stares at him, open-mouthed. “I know it's unusual for us to stay planetside that long, but I don't conjure there's anything jaw-dropping 'bout it,” he ventures.

Simon blinks, raising his eyebrows. “No, of course not,” he says with a thin smile. “I'll just go see what we could use more of.”

Confused, Mal's still standing there when Zoë comes down the stairs. 

“Sir, I-” she stops short as he turns to her, and he's finding there's no end to the ways his crew's finding to exasperate him today.

“What? Why in hell's everyone looking at me like I've grown two heads today?” he grumbles, heading back towards the doors.

“Might be cause you've got a great big hickey on your neck there, Capt'n,” Jayne offers, heading past on his way off the ship.

“Does kinda have a way of attracting the eye, sir,” Zoë admits, before making herself scarce.

Mal closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. “River?”

She leaves off her no doubt enthralling wiring conversation, comes to stand next to him. “Yes, Mal?”

“Could you maybe see fit to not be putting marks on me? Least not where other people can see 'em?”

She reaches up, brushing her fingers across a spot on his neck. “A symbol,” she says. “Marks you as mine.”

He groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

Simon smirks, catching the end of this exchange as he leaves the ship. “You wanted her, Captain,” he says, a shade too much smugness in his voice for Mal's taste.

He did, at that. “Woman,” he says, looking over at her, at that smile she's somehow got a way of making both innocent and sly, all at once. He's never got a chance in hell when he's up against that one. “You coming along with me or not?”

“Of course,” she says, taking hold of his hand. “Someone's got to keep you out of trouble.”

***

From the vantage point of a bar stool, River surveys the room, leaning back to rest her elbows on the bar and swinging her feet. Mal's down at the end of the bar, deep in conference with the owner, searching for work that'll keep them off of Badger's sad little hill, where they've been burned once too often.

Though at nineteen she's well able to drink as she likes – even in the Core, alcohol isn't denied to those over eighteen, and the further out from the Core, the bar clientele simply seems to get younger – River makes a point of never drinking on a job, no matter how often the others do it. Her mind isn't at its sharpest off _Serenity_ anyhow, the _pageantry_ of colors and noise and so very many _voices_ surrounding her, threatening to pull her under.

Still, as she's learned in the past, a pretty girl in a bar without a drink is something of a beacon. She sighs inwardly at the two boys headed her way, but it's not so bad as it might be; there's no _darkness_ coming off them, nothing but the razor-balanced confidence of boys her own age.

They take up posts on either side of her, grinning. “Hey there,” the one she dubs _braver_ in her head offers. “I'm Kiran, this here's Niesha.” The one who is _shyer_ nods at her, raising his glass a bit. “You from around here? Think we'd remember seeing you before.”

She can't help but smile back; they remind her of nothing so much as eager puppies. “Been here before,” she says. “You wouldn't have seen me, though. Usually stay on the ship.”

“You ship out then?” Kiran the _braver_ asks, leaning on the bar. “Must be an interesting life, always off to new places.”

“It is,” she allows. “I'm very happy there.”

“So, um,” Niesha the _shyer_ breaks in, “Can we buy you a drink, keep you company a while?”

She smiles at them again as she shakes her head, doing her best to be gentle. “Sorry. Wouldn't want you to waste your money. Already have a man,” she says, tilting her head back as Mal approaches her from behind the bar.

“Hey there, darlin',” he says, setting his hands on her shoulders and smiling down on her, ignoring the two boys as utterly beneath his notice. “You alright here for a spell? I got a deal to be made in the back, shouldn't be too long.”

“Does it require my presence?” she asks. While Mal still does his best to keep her out of the _action_ of jobs, keeping her as backup and getaway, she often serves as his _compass_ , testing the currents of reliability for him.

“Nah, done jobs for these folks before, don't figure on any troubles coming up now. I'll be back soon, take you out and buy you somethin' pretty.” He pauses at her expression, rethinking. “Or somethin' lethal, whichever you'd prefer.”

“We'll see,” she says, watching him fondly as he ruffles her hair and walks off.

“Something lethal, huh?” Kiran says, watching her with a slight _wariness_ now. “Well, can't say he's what I would have expected, but I know well enough when I've got no shot. Come on, Niesha.”

“Better luck elsewhere,” she offers as the boys walk away.

She's about to turn to the bar, get herself a glass of water, if only to give her fingers something to do besides twist in the ends of her hair, when her mind picks it up, _throbbing_ through the air of the bar.

_River?_

Her name. She doesn't often use it off-ship, knowing the danger of connecting the _name_ with the _girl_. Generally she is introduced merely as Mal's _pilot_ , though she knows some of their contacts have the distinct idea that her name is _Albatross_. Some days she begins to think it is herself.

But here, where they ought not, someone knows her _reality_ , knows her true name.

It doesn't take long to spot him, and she slides off her stool and through the crowd like she's walking through a dream.

She comes _awake_ again at the edge of his table, staring her past in the face. Trying her best to analyze her feelings, she sits down, hits up against the _truth_ that – for now at least – she feels _nothing_ , a state so unusual she can only stare at him for a moment before finding her voice.

“Hello, daddy.”


	2. Wickedness and Sin

_II. Wickedness and Sin_

The best part of five years pass between them as River sits opposite her father, though for her those years have held much more of _worst_.

“River,” he says, hands wrapped tight around a glass. “My God, is it really you?”

This is a foolish question – the years have not changed her that much – but she opens her mouth to respond anyhow, before he _cuts_ her off. “Is your brother with you? Do you know where Simon is?”

The urgency in his voice breaks her from her daze, _snaps_ her in the face with the recollection of all she's gathered from Simon's mind on _Serenity_. The way their parents had ignored, had been _willfully_ blind to her coded pleas, the way they had let _fear_ rule them. But she remembers times _before_ as well, remembers her father's loving pride in his children as _people_ , not accomplishments, remembers her beautiful mother deigning to dance with a giggling little girl in their empty ballroom. So she gathers and focuses herself, setting tasks of _discover_ , _locate_ , and _decide_ to calm her mind, and answers him.

“I know. He's safe, and well. Happy, if that matters.”

He seems about to reach out to her, folds his hands together instead. “River, you must tell me where he is. I need to see him.”

“Why?” Such a simple question, with so much riding on whether the answers in _mind_ and _speech_ agree.

“Why? Because he's my son. Because I've been searching for him – for both of you – for a long time now. River,” he says, finally reaching out to her, “I want to take you back home. It's safe now.”

“Safe?” she says, drawing her hand back. “You don't know safe. Didn't want to make me _safe_ before.”

She is surprised, somehow, to feel a current of _pain_ and _shame_ running through his mind. “That was – it was a very complicated situation. We did what we thought was for the best,” he says.

“What was best for you. You abandoned Simon. Thought of me with fear.” She looks at him, her eyes narrowing. “Still do. Did someone tell you what they made me?”

He looks at her arms, bare and exposed to the light, at the battle scars that mark her as _used_ , damaged, dangerous. “That's not the worst of it,” she says, voice quiet now. “Cut in my brain. Invaded my head, put things there that didn't belong. Forced me open to see.” She tilts her head to the side, voice growing fainter so that he has to lean closer to hear. “Could always see some things, though. You always had plans for Simon. A position for him all picked out. Never gave thought to my future.” She frowns, catching against the unvoiced _response_ in his thoughts. “I'm not unnatural. Product of my environment.”

He jerks back as though she's struck him, shaking his head. “River, this...none of this is your fault, I know that. You can't help what's happened to you. But you can't stay out here on the fringes of the 'verse, dear. It isn't safe for you. It isn't how you should be living. We can help you, your mother and I. You and Simon can come home with us, we can be...”

“Be a family again?” she finishes for him, tears gathering in her eyes at the _absurdity_ of it all. “Maybe we have another family now.” Even as she says it, she remembers Mal, _reaches_ for his presence in the back room.

Her father sighs. “ _We_ are your family, River. You can't deny that. And we can care for you far better than anyone you might have found out here. This is a burden that shouldn't be placed on others. Now, please, will you take me to your brother?”

The ordered files of his mind are complex; there's no malice here, no matter how it hurts to be referred to as a _burden_ , no betrayal in him, or she would have fled from the start. But there is _fear_ , uncertainty held back by _pride_. He wants Simon back because he is _Simon_ ; he wants her back to assuage _guilt_. To be a mere penance is a void that stares River in the face, stripping the color from her thoughts.

It's the tiny bit of her clinging to the edges of Mal that brings her back, warns her that her Captain is on his way out. Making an _explanation_ of either of these men to the other is nothing she wants right now, and her tongue will say anything to be free of her father. “I'll bring Simon. Maybe. If the cycles of the clock permit it.”

He is nowhere near satisfied with this, she knows, but she slips from the table, makes herself lost among the crowd, and surfaces outside the door before he can do more than realize she's gone.

She hasn't escaped Mal's notice though, feels his hand on her shoulder. “You alright, River?” he asks, studying her face.

“Too much,” she says. “Too many memories. Can't hold them all, need to go back.”

He's confused, she knows, but his trust in her has only grown more unwavering over time, and he simply nods, guides her back to _Serenity_ without comment.

***

The numb _nothingness_ has worn off, back on the ship.

Burdened with her new secret, River wanted only to be lost in her bunk, to let herself drift. To have time to work every _possibility_ to an _ending_ , to choose what to tell Simon.

But the ship had been holding her breath when River stepped on board, a _hush_ of expectation that had pulled her, stumbling, from Mal's arm, led her almost unwillingly to the engine room. She had known Kaylee's secret as soon as she laid eyes on her, but allowed it to be told in words anyhow, allowed Kaylee the pleasure of sharing. And while River had been happy, had smiled with _honesty_ and hugged with _joy_ , the news has only added a twist to her burden.

Now the comfort of her own bunk is not enough, its solitude stifling, even with the heavy layer of _Mal_ that lies over the room. Mal himself has left the ship once more, and she craves the comfort of him, his steady resilience.

The ship speaks to her then, a memory of a memory sliding into the silence.

_When you can't run anymore, you crawl, and when you can't crawl, well..._

She knows the rest, and flees the solitude of her bunk to take refuge in Mal's, waiting on his ability to carry her.

While not forbidden to her, his bunk is an _unfamiliar_ place still, a space that is his and his alone. Their relationship began in her bunk, and in those early days she had been shy of it still, unsure of the rules; she had waited for him to come to her, until it became routine, until her bunk was as much _theirs_ as _hers_.

He still spends time here, though, still sleeps here on nights when their companionship is not mutually desired, or their watch schedules conflict.

She nests herself gratefully in a bed that smells completely of him, and wills her mind to _focus_ , to _puzzle_. But try as she might, there's a fog of panic wrapped around her, her father's thoughts filling her head. _Burden_. _Unnatural_. The look in his eyes, of _love_ mingled with _fear_ , floods her mind with terror. It is a look she remembers from earlier days on _Serenity_ , from Kaylee and Simon. From Wash, and Inara, Book and even her beloved Mal. It's a look she'd thought banished to the past, never wants cause to remember. But now that it's been _forced_ to the surface, it consumes her mind, threatening the happiness she's built with Mal. Shows her all the flaws and cracks, just how fragile the trust that _they_ are founded on could be.

The sound of the door opening is a blessing. While her feelings can never be pushed back, she's found they can be _overwhelmed_ , buried in the right stimulus, and she's on Mal almost before he can get the door shut, pushing him up against the wall in her urgency to kiss him, to slide her hands under his clothing.

“Woah there, darlin',” he says, holding her off with a laugh. “You miss me that much?”

“Yes,” she says breathlessly, reaching for him again, willing him to respond as she'd like.

But love has not made Mal any less _stubborn_ , and he leans out of her reach, studying her face. “Ain't been gone but a few hours. And as I recall, somethin' had you worked up even 'fore that. You wanna tell me what that was now?”

“No,” she says simply, managing to slide from his grasp, kiss him again. “Please, Mal,” she whispers against his mouth, as he pulls away once more.

“You don't care to tell me, that's fine,” he says, sitting on the bed and folding his arms. “But you ain't gonna use me to get it out of your head.”

River sighs. He's come to know her too well, knows the way she seeks him out in the night when dreams plague her, the way she buries her thoughts between their bodies. Still, even the _challenge_ of this is distraction enough, a game she knows they both love to play. And as he's the one who taught her about _seduction_ , she knows all the right moves.

“Mal,” she says, letting her voice slide low like smoke in her throat. “Need you inside me. Need _you_ in my head.” Resting her hand on his knee, she stares into his eyes, lowering herself slowly to kneel between his feet.

She hears his breath catch as she slides her hands up along his thighs, _knows_ as her hands go to work that she's already won, that for a while at least, he'll be willing to help keep her mind at bay.

***

Today, for River, it is not so much _afterglow_ as _aftermath_ , as the warm, throbbing tide slides from her brain, leaving _panic_ to curl up once more. Mal is watching her, his eyes sharp and focused, not dimmed at all by their bout of activity. His surveillance, loving as it is, only makes her panic grow, chokes her with the fear of losing it.

She picks up his hand, threading her fingers through his to give her eyes something to focus on as she struggles to speak. “Wouldn't use my edges on you. Trust you to keep me blunt.”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Edges ain't all you got to use on me, clearly. Won't say it's not pleasurable, but don't aim to be makin' that a habit with me, albatross. You got things in your head troubling you, you _talk_ about them, _dong ma_?”

She knows what she has to say will not please him, but fear holds her in its grasp, the desire to let him be _unburdened_ overriding logic. Still, she tries to soften him, raising his hand to her lips before saying, “You're my lodestone. Won't let me stray. But I can't put everything on you all the time.”

“River,” he says, the _seriousness_ in his voice stopping her as she slips from the bed, making her look back at him, “you know there's nothing you couldn't share with me, right?”

She looks back at him, words unsaid hanging between them. “We don't share everything, Mal,” she says softly, pulling on her clothes and turning her back on him, scrambling up a ladder she can hardly see for tears in her eyes.


	3. Never Asked

_III. Never Asked_

Mal's gotten used to his life being even more full than usual of ups and downs since he'd taken up with River, but even by their standards, this day's shaping itself into a hell of confusion. She still had her moods, like anybody else, but wasn't often now that she had so many of 'em in one day. She'd shut herself up in her own bunk after going running out of his, made it abundantly clear she didn't want any more of his company. And that's left him wandering his ship with, unbelievably, nothing to do, except wonder what's got her in a pet and think back to make sure it ain't anything he's done.

Coming up on the galley, he can hear Simon's voice, and groans a bit to himself. Six months gone by, and the doc still hasn't forgiven him for daring to lay hands on his sister, maintains a politeness towards Mal that's downright frosty. Still, he can hear Kaylee giggling away, and that's always a good sign.

“You _told_ her?” Simon sounds as near to panic as he gets, and Mal stops short of the doorway, never above a bit of eavesdropping on his own boat. 

“It's River, she was gonna know anyhow. And she was happy enough with it, don't you worry.” Kaylee's got on her usual cheerful tone, even as Simon sighs. 

“If you're certain. But don't tell anyone else, alright? I'd still like to hear back before-”

Kaylee's laughter cuts him off as she moves towards the doorway. “Oh, Simon, you're still so dang proper about everything. Wouldn't hurt anything to- Hey there, Captain,” she says, catching sight of Mal. 

“Kaylee, doc. Care to tell me what you've been discussing?” he asks, trying to pretend he ain't been standing there listening in.

“Surely don't, Cap'n,” Kaylee says, shooting a pointed look at Simon. “Ain't none of your business.” 

“Everything on this boat is my business, _mei mei_.”

Somewhere on this ship, there might just be somebody who's still intimidated by him, but it surely isn't Kaylee, who just smiles and gives him a kiss on the cheek. “Not this time.”

Simon clears his throat, and Mal gets the impression he's refraining from rolling his eyes at them. “Is it safe to assume that since you're walking around fully clothed, it might be possible to find my sister in a non-compromising position?”

Mal grins. It's possible the doc's continued dislike of him may just have something to do with Mal's urge to get under his skin whenever possible. “Come now doc, that ain't hardly fair. We near always remember to lock the door these days. Not our fault you're more attached to your sister than some folk might find healthy.”

Simon's look, narrowed eyes and all, is definitely closer to the anger end of the spectrum. “She's been upset today, hasn't she?”

Settling himself at the table and putting his feet up, Mal reflects that, unhealthy or not, Simon does know his sister plenty well. “She has been, at that. Swear it's nothing I've done, and for once I'm fair certain of it. She's clammed up though, won't talk none to me. Maybe you'll have better luck with her, she's down in her bunk.”

“Thank you,” Simon says stiffly, before turning to Kaylee. “ _Bao bei_ , I-”

“You go on,” Kaylee says, giving him a quick kiss. “But I'd swear that ain't what's got her upset.”

“You never know, with River.” Simon's about to leave the room when Kaylee pulls him back, one of her shiny smiles spreading across her face.

“Hey. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Simon says, kissing her in return and squeezing her hand before he heads off down the passage.

At the table, Mal rolls his eyes. Feelings, getting all over his damn boat. “Feel like I'm running a gorram honeymoon cruise here, way you two been goin' around like that lately.”

Kaylee gives him a sharp look as she sits down, before wrinkling her nose up at him. “Don't be such a mean old man, Cap'n. 'Sides, we ain't the only couple on here. You 'n River must get all sweet-like from time to time.”

Mal snorts. “No, we don't. Don't ever hear us making public declarations of love, do you?”

“Don't ever _hear_ you, no,” Kaylee says, smirking. “Think we've all caught sight of you a time or two though, way you two-”

“Alright, alright, enough 'bout that,” Mal cuts her off. “Two can play at that game, and I've seen more'n I ever cared to of Simon's backside in the engine room, this past year.”

She giggles, tracing circles on the table with her fingertip. “Can't help it, you know how I feel 'bout engines.”

“You know, I think the only one on this boat I ain't ever seen naked at this point is Jayne, and – oh god, I truly did not need to be puttin' that image in my head.”

The sly look Kaylee shoots him isn't something he was expecting. “Trust me Cap'n, ain't so bad as you're picturing.”

Honestly, Mal never knew his eyebrows could go so high. “You and – and _Jayne_?” 

“Long time ago. Ain't always been a lot to choose from, out here,” she points out. “And when have you ever seen _Zoë_ naked, anyhow?”

“We were in a war together,” he says, mind still refusing to depart from the truly unnatural thought of adorable little Kaylee lowering herself to Jayne, so to speak. “Ain't a lot of room for privacy in wartime, and Zoë's not a shy woman in any case. But let's go back here – _Jayne_? Honestly _mei mei_ , I'd have made port for you, let you pick up a boy if I'd have known!”

They're both lost in laughter for a moment, til Kaylee sobers up, looking at him like she's searching her mind for something. “You know, Cap'n, I don't think I've _ever_ heard you 'n River say you love each other.”

“Likely cause we don't. Say it, that is,” he amends. “Feelin' it's a different matter.”

Kaylee's eyes have gone all wide, with that accusing look in 'em that means he's done something awful, like forgetting to buy some vital engine part or not noticing her new hairdo. “Mal! You mean to say you've never told that girl you love her?”

He shifts in his chair, feeling like he's getting called out for a crime he ain't committed. “Flew through a mess of reavers for her, put my home and my crew at risk. Hell, I even got myself run through with a gorram sword, what more could a woman want?”

She waves her hand, like his declarations don't have no more weight than a fly she's looking to swat. “That was just you bein' all noble, crusadin' against the Alliance. Ain't like it was exactly a personal proclamation of undying love.”

“Sometimes it ain't a thing that needs to be said, when you got other ways of showing it. Conjure there's gotta be a reason why she puts up with me even when I'm drunk and don't pick at me when I'm feelin' poorly. Same reason I don't mind when she insists on flyin' her own way, or stealing all my favorite shirts.”

“You got no romance in your heart,” Kaylee says, shaking her head. “Sometimes a girl just likes to be sure she's appreciated, you know? Simon's always doin' little things for me, little bits of courting rituals like they do in the Core. It's sweet.”

“See, there you go again, getting feelings all over my boat. Like trying to breathe syrup, air in here's so sweet.”

Kaylee just sticks her tongue out at him and gets up to make tea. She's amazingly silent for once, but Mal's not taking that as too much of a kindness, since all it's doing is letting thoughts of the misery in River's face and her words about not sharing things build up in his head.

“Kaylee – you don't really think she might be worryin' on it, wantin' more of that kinda thing from me, right? I mean, she ever said anything to you 'bout it?”

Her smile, and the way she pats his hand as she sits back down, are a mite too sympathetic for his taste. “Don't you go gettin' bothered over it now. River's a smart girl. She ever have a problem tellin' you what she wants before?”

“She does have a way of demanding things as can't be ignored,” 

“Well then I'd say you got nothin' to be fretting over, Cap'n.”

“Prob'ly right, li'l Kaylee,” he says, smiling at her.

But deep down inside, now there's a bit of him wondering.


	4. Half a Heart Alone

_IV. Half a Heart Alone_

In her bunk, River's confusion and misery are such that she would welcome any distraction, make the sight of her brother's shiny shoes descending into her space seem a _relief_. If what needs to be told to him is less than welcome, at least Simon is the proper person to share her burden with.

“ _Mei mei_ ,” he says, sitting beside her. “Are you feeling all right? Mal said you'd been upset today.”

“You mean he affirmed it when you asked him,” she says, well aware of the _bristling_ still on display between her brother and Mal. She knows Mal would never openly discuss their private communications with Simon, just as Simon's acknowledgment of her relationship is mostly limited to a heightened attention in matters of contraception.

Predictably, he ignores her statement. “River, I know that Kaylee's told you. Are you bothered that-”

“Simon,” she cuts him off, making a face at him, “don't be stupid. I knew you were thinking of it months ago. I'm pleased for you, really. Isn't that.”

“What is it then?” he asks. “Though if it's something to do with Mal, I'd just as soon go and get Kaylee or Zoë for you, if it's all the same.”

She stares at him levelly. “You've really got to get over disliking him for no good reason. Isn't attractive in a man of your upbringing.”

“And it isn't attractive for you to be an obfuscating brat,” he responds, giving her a gentle nudge with his elbow. “So...?”

She sighs, decides to approach the problem _sideways_. “Our parents. What would you say, if you could talk to them?”

“ _Mei mei_ , why would you...” He shakes his head, eyebrows drawn together as he considers her. “I honestly don't know. I suppose half of me would want to curse them for not being there when we needed them. And the other half would want to invite them to my wedding.”

“We failed them,” she says, a tremor building faint in her voice. “Children are supposed to honor their parents. Bring prestige to the family. They failed us, but we failed them too.”

“Well, all the Tams have succeeded spectacularly in failing, then,” Simon responds. “Except you, River. You never got a chance to choose any kind of path for yourself. You didn't fail anyone.”

Reaching over to take his hand, a _bond_ and _comfort_ , she says, “You didn't fail me, Simon. I shouldn't have said it. Doesn't matter, what would have been in the Core. Not out here.”

“No, I suppose it doesn't. The view does tend to be different from the black.”

He has not asked her yet, has not touched again on the _why_ of her question, but she knows he will. Knowing the only way out is through, she takes a deep breath, and _plunges_. “I saw our father. Here, in town.”

“You _what_?” he asks, face disbelieving. “That couldn't possibly – River, are you sure?”

“I remember my own father, Simon,” she says. There are many things still that she doesn't recall, that she chooses not to, perhaps. But more than those are the memories she had thought lost forever, those that were, in the end, only _hiding_ in the haze of drugs and the scars in her brain. She remembers now; things that were, things she shouldn't know, and sometimes it's a difficulty, keeping them ordered. But her parents she _knows_ , as she is convinced she would always have known Simon, no matter what had happened, no matter how much they had _bent_ her. “I saw him today. Spoke to him.”

“You talked to him?” Simon's eyes narrow. “This morning, you mean, when you were in town?” She nods, and he speaks again, his tone strained. “And you didn't tell me this right away?”

“Didn't tell anyone. Not even Mal.” She shakes her head, confused now at her own actions, remembering only the driving sense of panic, of _urgency_ and secrecy. “I didn't want to share it. Cause chaos.”

“River, what-” he breaks off, the grasp of his hand tightening on hers. “It could be a trap,” he says, flatly. “Why else would he be out here, after all this time?”

“It's not. I would know, Simon. He just wants to see us. See you,” she amends. “Wants you to go back with him, to Osiris. He thinks it's safe now.”

Simon gives a hollow laugh. “I doubt very much if it will ever be safe for us. And even if we could go back...” He sighs, then gives her a look full of appraisal. “ _Mei mei_ , do _you_ want to go back?”

“They don't really want me,” she says. “Just you. I couldn't leave _Serenity_ anyhow. Bound here.”

“No, of course not,” he says, mouth twisting as he pulls his hand away. “You couldn't possibly leave your precious Captain.” He sighs, and it sounds of _bitterness_ , his face turned from hers. “Are there any other secrets you're keeping from me, or is that all?”

She tilts her head, Simon's thoughts so _loud_ from being so long repressed that she hardly needs to read, can feel them as though they belong to her. “You're angry with me,” she says, slowly. “Not just for this. Angry because I didn't tell you about Mal. For months, you've been angry over it?”

His jaw tightens, and she is reminded that her brother has always carried anger well; quietly and coiled within him, but no less _fierce_ for that. “You should have told me you were in love with him. But no, instead you just let me stumble on it, when it was-”

“What?” she asks. “When it was too late to halt?” He doesn't answer, but he doesn't need to; she _knows_. “I couldn't wait, Simon. When you want something, you shouldn't wait. Too many risks.”

“I waited,” he says, and his voice is quiet, too quiet for the emotion behind it. “I waited until it was nearly too late, because I was too caught up with – with everything,” he finishes, but she knows he means _with you_.

“I know,” she says, taking his hand again. “That's why I couldn't. I learned from you, Simon. I always have. You teach me, and you guide me. You saved me, so that I could be a person again. And I am, because of you. Wasn't because I didn't trust you. But I needed to be my own person for once.”

“It's just difficult to let you go,” he says, and then he doesn't, hugging her and letting her rest her chin on his shoulder, as they've done since she was too small to remember. This is another thing she recalls; it was always Simon she went to for comfort, Simon she turned to with scraped knees and the small emotional wounds of a child. She knew, at the Academy, that if anyone came for her (if, _if_ , never _when_ but always _if_ ), it would be Simon. And so she tries, her words muffled by his shoulder, to ease his bitterness.

“You don't have to let me go. Just have to learn to share. I share you with Kaylee. It isn't that difficult, I promise. Emotion isn't a finite quantity, Simon.”

“I've always been good at sharing,” he says, as they break apart. “Since you always demanded whatever I had.” It isn't true, not really, but she doesn't contradict him. The one thing Simon has never wanted to share is her; his overwhelming _presence_ in her life is due not only to her own preference but to his, their bond excluding even their parents. “But this doesn't really matter now. Tell me about today.”

“He was at the bar. Where Mal and I went, for the job. He asked after you. Said he's been looking for us, wanted me to bring him to you. But I – needed time to think, and then Mal was coming and I couldn't _think_ , and I just ran,” she says, her words spilling out in a torrent, faster and faster. “Came back here and Kaylee was waiting, and I knew I couldn't tell you then, couldn't spoil things for you, but it ate at me and now it's all soured, burned at the edges.”

“Shh, River,” he says, holding her close again. “I understand; it's alright. Nothing is spoiled. This doesn't change anything.”

“You don't want to go back?” she asks, sniffling.

He's silent for a long moment, and worlds and lifetimes pass in the hush between them. “I don't think it would be worth it, not anymore,” he says eventually. “I thought it was all I wanted, once. I wanted the life I'd built back, wanted to be the person everyone always thought I was supposed to be. The person I knew _how_ to be.”

“But now you've learned to be yourself again.”

“I have. This certainly isn't Osiris, and the infirmary here will never be the same as the trauma centers there. But I've changed so much...” He shakes his head. “I couldn't be that person anymore. I can't be their son, not the one they want back. And I couldn't leave you, or Kaylee. I couldn't leave _Serenity_ ,” he says, sounding vaguely surprised at his own statement, and River wonders at the way her brother can be so intelligent while taking such time to grasp things that have long been _certain_. “Still, I suppose I owe it to him to deliver that news in person. If you can find him again, of course.”

She thinks, for a moment, of lying, of denying the possibility and leaving it all to settle in the dust of Persephone. But there is a voice, the price of her atonement and memory speaking once more, through the ship; the worn and warm voice of the flock's Shepherd.

_How we treat our dead is part of what makes us different._

She knows, letting the words settle along her skin, the truth of this. Her parents are alive, as she and Simon are alive, and yet they are not; to each other, each pair is dead as though they were ashes, scattered to the winds. They just don't know it yet. The only way to have _mercy_ is to make it known, to sever what bonds remain for a final time, or they will plague each other forever.

“I'm aware of where he'll be,” she says, knowing their father will not have given up, will be waiting for their return, trusting to her slim promise because it is all he has. “We can go tomorrow, early.”

Simon hesitates before speaking, his thoughts swirling around her in tumbled bits. “River, you don't have to go with me. If you don't want to, that is. It's probably safer if you don't, after all.”

“Told you he has honest intentions. Safer for _you_ if I do go, and you know it,” she says, raising her eyebrows at him.

“You always did have to tag along with me,” he says, smiling again, and some of her panic is soothed. “Mal won't like it though. He'll probably insist on coming with us.” From Simon's expression, she knows he desires a meeting between their father and their Captain as little as she does.

“Don't tell him,” she says. “He'll just fret. Make a nuisance of himself. He's very good at that.”

“ _Mei mei_ ,” he says, using his _long-suffering-patience_ tone, the one she has come to know too well, “it's not that I disagree with your conclusions, but you really ought to tell him. Or do you imagine he won't notice that you've suddenly vanished?”

“He shouldn't have to solve my problems. I don't want to be a burden, need to do this for myself.”

“River, I may not care for him like you do, but I'm certain he doesn't see you as a burden,” he says, confusion still evident.

“Don't want to give him reason to,” she says, seeking desperately for the correct words to explain. “He sees me like I'm a woman. Equal to him. The past makes me small, broken, chaotic. I need to keep Mal in the present.” She looks up at her brother, her eyes searching his face. “Do I make sense?”

Simon looks bemused, shaking his head slowly. “The first time the man met you, you were naked in a box, and I think he wanted to kill me because he thought I'd _bought_ you. Even when you were at your worst, he hardly seemed to think any less of you; only of the people who'd harmed you. But yes, I understand your motivations.”

“He thought you bought me? Why?” she asks, and wonders why Simon's face goes pink and he seems unable to form words, before he looks at her, giving her permission to _read_ what he doesn't wish to say. “ _Oh_ ,” she says, blinking. “He has such a smutty mind.”

“Please,” he says, holding up a hand, “I don't need to hear about it.”

She laughs, and after they work out the details (she feels like a small child again, plotting to run away from home), he leaves her to herself, and she settles, drifting in solitude among the wisps of her thoughts as hours pass. What she explained to Simon is, she knows, _truth_. It's easier now than it once was to understand herself, but seeing her father has upset her balance, her rhythm. Who she _was_ seems so very far from who she _is_ , an equation she can't make add up.

She is River Tam; a whole and a sum of parts. What fails to fit together, now, is the form of these parts; an uncertainty in whether she is meant to be _woman_ or _daughter_ , _mate_ or _burden_. This duality is splitting her conception of self, ripping along its seams, and she knows repair will only come with excision, with something of herself left behind in the world under _Serenity_. Once she could have transitioned from one to the other in a gradual fashion, built one role upon the base of the other until they were one and the same. But _now_ is too late; she's fought too hard to achieve her current form, purposely chosen and sculpted to fit. The seasons of her life have shifted; she can never again be _both_.

On _Serenity_ , her life seems an _ideal_ ; free in a world where no one mistrusts her, no one fears her, a world made up of love and protection and _feeling_. But this, she knows, is just a conception of reality, and letting herself hide in it, quiet and safe, won't resolve the problem of her former world. 

She has had enough of hiding. Tomorrow, she will depart, and face her demons without running, with only her brother at her side – as she arrived, as it should be, with their demons shared.

But for tonight – tonight, she will have Mal.

***

It's the click of the door locking shut that wakes Mal, though he can't really recall drifting off in the first place. Didn't think he was like to, what with the whole damn day having made him so uneasy, putting him on edge like he's expecting the tramp of Alliance boots at any moment.

Or, if he's telling the truth, like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop with River, for her to come along and tell him Kaylee was right and he's been doing this whole relationship thing wrong from the start, cause he might've been telling himself that's a load of foolishness all night long, but it still ain't stopped him from thinking on it.

So he's mighty glad to see her now, moving across the floor like a shadow through the dim bit of light he'd left on in hopes she'd make her way down to him.

Makes him even happier to note she's acting just the same as ever, leaving her clothes to lay on the floor and slipping in next to him without a word; he shifts over, making room for her to curl her body up against his, not needing to be told.

“Hey there, li'l one,” he mumbles, holding onto the brief hope that she'll just snuggle up and go to sleep, and everything'll be back to normal come morning, no more secrets, no more worrying.

“Are you ever sorry?” she asks, sending that hope down in flames and making him glad he's still got a soldier's instincts, the ability to wake up almost immediately chief among them. “Sorry that you kept us on? That you're with me now?”

“Darlin', it's always a foolish question to be askin' a man if he's sorry he's got a naked woman in his bed,” he says, teasing out of nothing more than habit. “But that's a damn fool question anyhow. Course I ain't sorry, and you don't gotta be askin' to know that.”

“Like to hear you say it,” she says softly. “I know I'm not a suitable partner for you. Things would be simpler without me.”

“ _Fei hua_. Wouldn't have nobody to fly my ship then. Anyway, ain't we been over this before?” 

Trying to get a good look at her face in the pale light's near useless, even before she ducks her head down against his shoulder. It's times like this when being with a reader's the most frustrating thing in the 'verse; ain't a thought that goes through his head that he can't be certain she hasn't picked up on, but she goes and closes herself off like a wall, leaving him to guess from the outside. So, seems to him all he can do is hold her close and take a stab at it. “Look, darlin', you know I think it's best having things out in the open here, so if there's anything you want from me, anything I ain't doin' right, you just gotta ask.” 

He catches a gleam of light off her eyes as she looks up at him, feels the press of her lips against his collarbone, her hand sliding down his body. Woman's gotten mighty good at distracting him when she don't wanna hear what he has to say, but this time he's fair determined.

“River, you know I l-” Her fingers stop him, sliding over his lips. 

“Don't,” she whispers, her mouth against his. “Not now. Wait.”

He's got it in mind to ask what, exactly, he's supposed to be waiting for, and just why she didn't want him saying it, among other things, but she's got her mouth to his, stopping any kind of speech. Still, his mind must keep on humming with it, cause she pulls back all sudden like, her eyebrows drawn together.

“Don't be nosy,” she says. “Isn't polite. Wait for tomorrow.” She closes her eyes then, easing herself on top of him, and he lets himself get lost in the familiar heat of her, hardly hearing her voice when she says, “And remember this.”


	5. The Harm that Here I've Done

_V. The Harm that Here I've Done_

“Going somewhere, doc?” It's a fairly novel sight, Simon doing his best to sneak across the cargo bay, what with him generally being the one with the least need for sneaking around on the boat. Though, Mal reflects, that might explain why he's none too good at it.

Simon starts a bit, though it takes one who knows him to notice it – he reminds Mal of Inara in that way, both of 'em too well bred and too well trained to give away much in the way of emotion. “You...aren't supposed to be here,” Simon says, one hand going up to smooth down the back of his hair, way he always does when he gets nervous.

“And who says I ain't supposed to be in my own ship? Did it change hands without my noticing, maybe?”

“No, River just promised that – that you'd be out of the way.”

“Seems your sister's not quite as clever as she thinks. Either that or you were slower than you oughta be, but either way, you mind tellin' me why you're looking to avoid me?”

Simon smiles, thin and humorless. “I wouldn't be trying to avoid you if I wanted to tell you, would I?” Mal's got a thing or two to say about that – he don't like to accept that kind of circular logic from the Tam he's sleeping with, much less the one he ain't – but Simon shakes his head and gets back to speaking himself. “Look, I explained things to Zoë, and to Kaylee, and I assure you, we've taken all the necessary precautions. River and I are going into town, we should be back in a few hours at the most, and that's all I'm going to tell you.”

“Okay...” Mal says, trying hard to keep a rein on his temper. “You care to tell me _why_ you can't tell me, at least?” Turns out that wasn't really necessary to ask though, seeing as how a flutter of dark hair and loose skirt at the outside door tells him what he needs to know. “She don't want me to know.”

Simon shrugs helplessly. “Look, Mal, I told her she ought to tell you, but – you know River.”

“That I do,” Mal says, fighting to keep his voice level as he turns away, of a mind now to go and seek out his first mate, who at least isn't the type to keep secrets from him. “And from the way you're acting, I can bet this trip of yours ain't gonna involve anything pleasant for me, so you can tell River me and her are gonna have a little chat when y'all get back, _dong ma_?”

“Terrific,” Simon mutters, walking off to join his sister on whatever grand secret mission they got going on, while Mal makes his way along the catwalk, trying to keep his blood from boiling out his ears. Woman knows full well secrets are one thing he can't abide – not wanting to talk about something is one thing, but sneaking 'round behind his back is another sort of thing entirely – and yet there she goes, gallivanting off, probably doing some gorram stupid thing that's gonna put her right in harm's way.

“Zoë!” he yells, taking the steps up to the bridge two at a time, only to be confronted with her and Kaylee sitting up there, calm as can be. “Oh, you're...here. That's good. Good,” he says, trying to get control of both his breathing and his mood.

“Something got your feathers ruffled there, Captain?” Zoë asks, a bit of a smirk breaking through her deadpan expression.

“My feathers are fine, thank you very much. One of you want to explain to me why my boat's suddenly down a doctor and a pilot and nobody wants to tell me a damn thing about it?”

“Well, sir,” Zoë says, standing up and glancing down at Kaylee, who's looking down at the screens and not paying attention to anything else, “seems River came across their father in town the other day, promised that she'd bring Simon 'round to see him. So that's where they've set off to now. I warned against using any names might lead back to us, and Kaylee set 'em up with tracking beacons, case anything should go wrong.”

“Their father's here on Persephone? Something of a trip from Osiris.” Mal's never thought much about the senior Tams, really, except maybe a vague thought that they couldn't be worth much as people, way they were more concerned with saving their own skins than their children's. Certainly he's never expected either of them to come into his orbit. “Why in the 'verse would she not wanna tell me that? She must know I'd have gone with her, kept her safe.”

“Think maybe that's exactly what she was afraid of,” she says, awfully gently for Zoë. “It's family business, sir. Likely they just wanted to...handle it on their own, without any of us barging in there. River'd never lead Simon into anything she didn't think was safe, you know that.”

Mal looks out the windows and shakes his head, letting out a dry laugh that falls flat before it's even out of his mouth. “Yeah, I know it. Wouldn't want us barging in, I can see that. Bunch of petty crooks like us, prob'ly wouldn't look too good to their father.”

“Don't think that's what she meant, sir,” Zoë says solidly, forcing him to meet her eye. There's nobody on the ship less conscious of class and appearance than River, truth be told, except maybe Jayne. Still, it's about the only reason he can conjure for her slipping away like that, without giving him so much as a warning.

“No,” he admits, “reckon it ain't.” Still, he notices Kaylee hasn't looked up from the console, hasn't contributed a word to the conversation, which, for that girl, is damn strange. “Zoë,” he says, taking a deep breath and trying to let the rest of his anger drain away, leastways til River gets back on board safe, “take Jayne, head out in the shuttle, and keep track of 'em. And make sure you're well armed, don't want you running into any trouble you can't handle.”

“Sir? River seemed pretty certain of the belief that-”

“She might trust him, but that don't mean I have to. I don't have a mind to be losin' anyone today, so best get Jayne and get yourselves out there. Hate not havin' her on my boat.”

“She'll be fine, Mal,” Zoë says, putting a hand to his shoulder in passing. “Jayne 'n I'll make sure of it.”

“What? No, I just meant cause with my pilot gone I gotta stay here in case there's quick flyin' needed, miss out on all the action.”

“Of course, sir.” She's got her deadpan face back in place now, but there's still something a little ironical in her tone.

“Really!” he calls after her, as she heads off down the crew passage in search of Jayne and weapons, two things generally found together. “In fact, you have to shoot anybody, make sure you shoot 'em twice for me!”

She waves a hand back at him in an awfully dismissive manner, letting him know he ain't fooled her for one second, before she moves out of sight.

“Hate not havin' her here,” he grumbles, settling himself in the pilot's chair.

“Cause she's the pilot,” Kaylee says, looking at him outta the corner of her eye.

“Right, cause she's the pilot. I ain't _worried_ , Kaylee. Really. Hell, I'm mad at the girl, don't have room to be worrying about her on top of that.”

“Uh huh. Whatever you say, Cap'n,” she says, tapping at the screens til she's got the Tams' beacons up on the screen, making slow and steady progress in a reassuring fashion. The sigh she lets out as she settles herself down in River's seat isn't so reassuring, though.

“Hey now, what's that for?” he asks, catching sight of an expression far off Kaylee's usual ridiculous cheer. “Don't tell me you're worried 'bout the doc. You know the way those two take care of each other.”

“Ain't worried anything's gonna happen to them,” she says, picking at a frayed patch on her overalls. “It's just that – well, you know Simon's never been too comfy here. Took him more'n a year to relax enough to even notice I had girl parts.”

“Oh, I'm fairly certain he noticed that fact right off. Just took his sweet time 'bout acting on it.”

“Things were goin' so well.” There's a faint bit of confusion in her voice, like she's waiting on him to insist they still are. “And now this.”

The com buzzes softly with Zoë's voice then, as she and Jayne take off in the shuttle, and by the time Mal looks back to Kaylee she's sitting there with that little patch pulled right off, laying in her hand. A heart, he notices, and he can't help wondering if she'd picked away at that one on purpose.

“What if they don't come back, Mal?” she asks finally, her voice so soft it's like she thinks saying it out loud might make it come true.

“What? Course they'll be coming back,” he says, putting all the confidence he's suddenly not too sure he's really feeling into his words. “All their stuff's here,” he points out, trying to get a smile outta her, trying to ignore the sudden chill in his bones.

Her face doesn't lighten though, not a bit. “He never wanted to stay here, not really. Used to talk all the time 'bout how different this life was to livin' in the Core. They ain't like us, the two of them. Used to livin' lives with more certainty to 'em. With fancy things and proper ways of behavin'.”

“Hey now,” he says, waiting till she looks up at him with her eyes gone all big and shiny, letting him know if he doesn't do something quick he's like to end up with a sniffly mechanic who's got eyes too swollen up to see. “We got plenty of good right here on this ship, _dong ma_? Simon and River ain't foolish enough that they don't know that. Not so easy as all that, goin' back to the life you used to lead, after you've been through a war like that.”

He doesn't even realize what he's said till Kaylee's soft voice repeats it. “A war, Cap'n?”

“Seemed close enough to war, what we went through after Miranda,” he says, watching the beacons on the screen so he doesn't have to look at her.

Silence spreads heavy across the bridge, before she breaks it, her voice steady but seeming over-loud after the quiet. “He asked me to marry him, Mal.”

“He asked you to _what_?” The jump to total and utter shock, after having gone through anger and fear so recently, is really too much to ask of a man, he thinks.

“Ain't so unbelievable as all that,” she says, her voice full of all kinds of shakes and sniffles.

“No, no, of course not, _mei mei_ ,” he says in a rush. “That's not what I meant. Just surprised that this is the first I heard of it, is all.”

Kaylee laughs, a tiny little fragile bit of sound. “We were waitin' to hear back from my folks, make sure they knew first and approved and everythin'. I guess that's how they do it in the Core – Simon says both sets of parents oughta be notified of a match and get a chance to 'express their approval,' or some kind of nonsense like that. He said his parents don't matter, but we oughta do it right with mine.” She sets her little heart patch down on the console, smoothing it out with her fingers, tracing round the edges. “So we were waitin' to tell everybody. River knew, but nobody else.”

Another secret River'd been keeping from him then, though he didn't blame her so much when it wasn't her secret to keep. “Well congratulations, sweetheart,” he says, trying and failing to imagine his little mechanic settled down and married, likely with a whole passel of babies messing around in his ship's engine before long. “I know how long it was you waited for him, and nobody who saw the way you two carry on could have any doubt as to how you feel 'bout each other.”

She shrugs, watching the unmoving glowing dot that represents Simon. “Maybe it ain't gonna matter none. Not like he wanted to take me out to meet his daddy, right?” Watching her furiously rub the heel of her hand over her eyes, Mal's horrified to realize she's finally crying. “Maybe you were right, when you said we wouldn't look good enough for 'em.”

“Oh, come on,” he says, moving to crouch down in front of her, taking her hands in his. “I was just bein' a grumpy old man when I said that, you and I both know there's no actual truth in it. Don't know about me, but I do know you're damn well good enough for any man. And you can be sure Simon knows it too.”

The tears in her eyes spill over as he watches, and then he's got no choice as he sees it but to hold her, hope she gets a hold of herself before she soaks right through his shirt. 

It's a fortunate thing that Kaylee's naturally cheerful, even the worst things never getting her down for too long, cause that means she stops crying pretty quick, even if she don't seem too inclined to let go of him just yet. “You're good enough too,” she says, her voice small and muffled against his shoulder. “But you know if one of 'em goes, they both will.”

“Those two always were somethin' of a package deal,” he says, trying to keep his tone light, trying not to think about River having to make a choice between him and Simon. He suspects it'd be something like his needing to make a choice between River and _Serenity_ , and that's none too comforting, cause love River as he might, he knows full well what his choice would be. “But they'll come back together,” he insists, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “Got a lot more here to bring 'em back than anything pulling them away.”

Kaylee's silent for a minute, before he feels her go stiff, her fingers digging into his back. “They're runnin'.”

“Now, Kaylee, we just talked this over-”

“No, Cap'n,” she says, pulling away and pointing to the screen. “They're _running_.”

If he'd thought he had his stomach in his throat before, it's nothing compared to the feeling he gets looking at the screen, where the two little dots are moving fast. Too fast for a leisurely stroll back to _Serenity_ , and in the wrong direction to boot.

“ _Ai ya, huai le_.” Mal makes a grab for the radio, wishing like hell he were out there where he could do something. “Zoë, report.”

“ _Looks like we've got ourselves something of a situation, sir,_ ” comes over the radio, followed shortly by the sound of gunfire, and the dull impact of metal on bone as Mal slams his fist down, into the console.


	6. Cover Me in Sympathy

_VI. Cover Me in Sympathy_

It isn't until they're settled in a back room of the bar (the same back room Mal had used the day before, which she knows because she can still feel his presence, _lingering_ ) that it begins to feel strange; when she sees Simon and their father take seats across a table from each other and she feels _wrenched_ back into the past, back into a world nothing like the one she inhabits now. Taking the chair next to Simon, she catches his eye, knows he feels it too. They have both grown used to a certain measure of independence, used to justifying themselves to no one but Mal. To their father though, they are clearly children, and _wayward_.

He does try, at first. “Simon. I thought I would never see you again.”

“Yes, well...” Simon looks to her, as though for support, then takes a breath. “As I recall, you said you wouldn't come for me again if I got myself into trouble. I'm not surprised you didn't expect to see me again. I _am_ rather surprised that you'd want to now, actually.”

Their father gives a laugh, brief and bitter. “Things have changed, believe me. Did you think it wouldn't matter, once you were gone? That they would just forget about us, that there would be no ramifications for anyone else?”

Simon raises an eyebrow. “Clearly they couldn't have been too terrible, since you're here now, alive and healthy and apparently with the money necessary to travel. But gosh Dad, I'm terribly sorry if my saving River from a place where they were cutting up her brain inconvenienced you at all.”

“It was more than an inconvenience, as I'm sure you must be well aware. You're not a fool. Your mother and I were lucky to escape the inquiry with our records and wealth fairly intact. Very lucky indeed.”

“Oh, and would you like to know what kind of luck _we've_ had, running to the ends of the galaxy, being chased down by your precious government while you sat at home, trying to save your-”

“Do _not_ talk to me like that,” their father cuts him off, using a tone that terrified them as children.

“You don't have the right to tell me how I should talk anymore,” Simon says, his voice rising.

“Simon.” River places a hand on his, tries to project _calm_. “Don't fight, either of you.”

He sighs. “You're right, _mei mei_ , we shouldn't be wasting time-”

“They'll kick us out if you're too loud,” she says, looking to the door. “I make them nervous. Got into a fight here once.” Gabriel looks at her like she's grown a second head; Simon simply rubs his forehead. “Well,” she clarifies, “Captain got into a fight. I just helped.”

“Don't ask,” Simon says, shaking his head slightly at their father. “But she's right, we shouldn't do this. Why don't we start over – hi Dad, how's Mom doing?”

For a moment she believes their father will refuse to play along with Simon's grating _false_ cheer; then she remembers exactly where Simon acquired his usual veneer of imperturbable sophistication.

“She's...well. She does her best; she misses you both, of course.”

“We ruined her life,” River says, head tilted, concentrating on the stream of thought. “Can't go out among her friends anymore. They ask questions, look at her with pity. She doesn't like it. Sits at home and sighs. Weeps. She never dances anymore.”

Gabriel looks at her oddly. “Does she do that often? It's disturbing,” he says to Simon.

“She _can_ hear you,” Simon responds, in a tone like sand, gone dust-dry. “And speak for herself, for that matter. But no, she only tends to do that nowadays with people she doesn't trust.” River treats their father to her sweetest smile, so as to be regular and pretty, _normality_ in girl form. Or possibly to be more strange, unsettling; being around Mal so long has left her with wicked habits, all _tangled_ up with older and more polite inclinations.

His eyebrows draw together as he watches her, before he seems to _recall_ his part in the conversation, and sighs. “It's true, your mother isn't happy. Having you back at home would ease her mind greatly.”

“Never dance again,” River murmurs, shaking her head.

Their father, having chosen to ignore her, continues on. “It's time that you come back home, Simon. It's safe to do so now, I'm quite certain of it. The time and trouble-” He pauses for a moment, and in his head River can read the pages as he flips through them, seeking the proper pattern of logic and order and firm paternalism to make his children _obey_. “I understand why you did what you did. I'll even agree that it needed to be done, and I'm thankful you were able to do it, truly. But it's time to put it behind us now. Things won't be exactly the same, obviously – your medical career will have been damaged beyond repair in government circles, but we can set up a private practice for you, get River the help she needs-”

“What are you talking about?” Simon asks, cutting off his plans. “You don't actually think – we're not going anywhere with you. You realize that, right?”

“Don't be foolish, of course you are,” Gabriel says, his tone as mild as though he were telling Simon that of _course_ he had to finish his homework. “Why in the 'verse would you want to stay out here, doing...whatever it is you've been doing? I don't even know where you've been living all this time; nowhere your mother would approve of, from those clothes,” he says, and the smile on his lips stretches tight, making River wonder at the fine line between _caring_ and _scorn_.

Simon, who hasn't worn one of his silk vests since the last time they needed someone with a fine upstanding look for a job, doesn't care to respond.

“We fly,” River says. “On a ship. A transport.” She frowns down at her pale purple skirt, wrinkles and dust tracking her passage through the world; not _shiny_ enough for Inara, it must have come from Kaylee. “I should get more clothes of my own. Never seem to have enough of my cut left to spend.”

“That's because you always spend yours on fruit, you greedy brat,” Simon mutters, giving her a _look_.

“And chocolate. And whiskey, on occasion. You're just mad because I share with the Captain and not you,” she tells him.

Their father clears his throat, the sound rasping, startling them both. “A transport ship? One where you both _work_?”

“Of course,” Simon responds. “Or did you think we were just carted along for free because of our outstanding personalities?”

“I used to be,” River says. “When I didn't comprehend. But then I got better, and became useful.”

“I see,” he says, slowly, and she wonders at the untruth of it; his _sight_ is a clear illusion. “Explain to me exactly why you'd choose to stay there, instead of returning home where you belong?”

“The ship is our home, now,” she says.

“Simon,” he says, ignoring her once more, shutting her out as unimportant, _untrustworthy_ , “surely you can see it would be far better for both of you back on Osiris. River is clearly not – not herself. It can't be easy, caring for her by yourself on some ship.”

Simon sees their father's _illusion_ now too, and his disbelief hits her so hard she nearly giggles. The two of them exchange a look, sharing the feeling that the days have turned back, leaving them _conspirators_ once more; children united against the petty tyrannies of being young. Some things, it seems, never change, though their time aboard _Serenity_ has made their language looser and their tongues sharper than they once were.

Shaking his head, Simon responds to their father. “River's doing very well, actually. And don't talk about her as though she isn't right here. Neither one of us is alone; there are people other than us aboard the ship.”

“And is it fair to them, to ask strangers to put up with that sort of burden? I should think they'd be relieved to see you go.”

River feels the hot spike of anger accompanying the automatic denial in her throat; feels it _double_ , as Simon shares her feeling, visibly forces himself to remain still. “They haven't been strangers for a long time now. They would never abandon us, and to think that we'd leave them...it's ridiculous.” 

Reaching for his hand, River squeezes it, smiles at him when he turns his head to her. And when the corner of Simon's mouth lifts in return, she knows he has seen just how _ridiculous_ the conversation has become; knows he's determined now to act like a member of _Serenity's_ crew, rather than a Tam, and she sits back with a grin.

“We can't just leave the ship,” he says. “We have certain...connections there, both River and I.”

“Connections? What exactly are you trying to say, Simon?”

“I'm getting married,” Simon says, flatly. “To the ship's engineer. And River has...” he trails off, looks to River, reining in the mischief in his eyes. “What exactly would you call it?”

“An attachment,” she says, _careful_ , keeping her face serious.

“Right. An _attachment_ to the Captain.”

Gabriel's eyebrows rise; River suspects that, as Simon did for so long, their father sees her as a child still, rather than a woman. “An attachment, meaning...?”

“We are together,” she supplies. “Linked, romantically. Sexually.” Both men wince; she smiles.

“You _allowed_ this to happen?” their father demands, turning on Simon.

“I'm sorry Dad; do you think it would have been a good idea to challenge the Captain of the ship I live on to a duel over my sister's lost honor, or some _feng le_ nonsense like that? She _is_ an adult now, if you hadn't noticed. Surely you remember how stubborn she gets. It isn't as if she asked my opinion on the matter beforehand; probably because she knew what I'd have said about it.” Keeping her face bland, River kicks her brother under the table; as a _defense_ of her autonomy and her relationship with Mal, his speech leaves something to be desired.

“I can't-” Gabriel sits back in his chair, and for a moment River nearly feels sorry for him, he is so _lost_ , so out of his element, his _illusions_ beginning to crack around him. “My daughter is in a relationship with the Captain of a transport ship. And my son plans to marry an _engineer_?”

Simon smiles, and to River, it's like a reflection of Kaylee, a bit of her warm self there with them. “I do. She's a good woman; talented and kind and giving. She makes me happy, and I love her. What could you possibly find wrong with that?”

“And I suppose you're full of justifications about your Captain as well?” Gabriel asks River, fleeing the challenge in Simon's gaze, seeking a more flexible target.

“He's a pirate,” she says, studying her fingernails. “He sees me, and I adore him.”

“Please tell me she doesn't mean that literally.”

“She certainly means part of it.” Simon sighs, turning to her. “But River, the Captain is not a pirate.”

She looks at him, brow furrowed. “Bandit?” she tries.

Their father's obvious distaste is mounting, and though Simon's mouth is quirked with barely suppressed laughter, his thoughts are attempting to tell her this is _pushing_ things too far. “River, this is not helping. Really, we do honest work,” he says, trying to placate their father.

“Mostly,” she adds. “When we can find it. If it pays well, and doesn't involve cows.”

“ _Mei mei_ ,” Simon says firmly, “stop talking now.”

She sticks her tongue out at him. “You could have said congratulations,” she says, turning to their father. “To Simon. Would have been polite.”

“Indeed,” he says, rather sharply. “Politeness would seem to be a quality in short supply, out here.”

“Ought to add to it, then,” she comments, letting her eyes wander as a current of thought begins to hiss in the back of her mind.

“I...I don't even know where to begin,” their father says. “This is your decision then? You won't be persuaded otherwise?”

River cocks her head, the current eddying and swirling behind her eyes, growing _louder_ , formed now almost into a readable pattern - 

“No, Dad. This is our-” Simon stops abruptly as River flings herself from her chair, because now the pattern is _clear_ , it's _here_ and why couldn't she see this _sooner_ \- 

“Have to go,” she says, pulling at the window, checking the alley beyond with rapid movements. “ _Now_ , Simon. They're coming.”

“What in the name of – _who_ is coming?” their father asks, still seated at the table even as Simon grasps her urgency at once, is by her side as she throws a leg over the sill.

“River, was it him?” he asks, staying her with a hand on her arm, and she knows there's no _time_ for this, no time for anything, but the _hope_ in her brother's eyes belongs still to a little boy, and not having retained any of a _girl_ herself, she can't bear to not respond.

“Not him. No betrayal. Just followed him,” she says, staccato bits of speech as she pushes herself over the sill to land in the dust beyond.

Simon stands at the window, hesitating, though she's frantic now with impatience, shaking with the conflicting needs to _run_ and _wait_.

“Dad, come on, hurry,” he says, turning back, making his choice. “Don't ask questions, just – if you want to live, come with us. Now.”

She waits to hear Simon drop behind her, and then she does not stay, catching his hand and setting off down the maze of back alleys. _Like a rat in a trap, run run run_ , she thinks.

Behind them, their father follows.


	7. The Only Solution

_VII. The Only Solution_

Ten men. Strike force, well trained. Simon just behind, fingers still in her grip. Two lefts, a quick right down a blind alley, in and out through an unlocked warehouse.

No use, River knows, feeling the cold metallic _chill_ of adrenaline creeping along, up her spine, across her brain. These fighters are good – not Alliance in the strictest sense.

They're _better_ than Alliance. And they're still on the trail.

One among the hundred calculations in her brain speaks out, regarding the inefficiency of her father's breathing – a well-kept man, fit and true, but unused to exertion, slowing. A liability.

The men are closing now – closer, closer, _soon_ – and it's not the perfect spot, this old scrapyard on the edge of town, but it will do. She can make it suffice, assets apparent and categorized in an instant. Sufficient cover, strong reflections of sunlight to throw off perceptions, jagged metal available for improvised weapons, unfenced.

Dropping to the ground behind a curved bit of hull (a former taxi, in a long ago life), she waves in Simon and their father, draws her gun from under her skirt, and _breathes_ , for one last free, blissful second.

“River?” Simon asks, and she's pleased to note his voice is firm, firm as the grip he's got on his own weapon, the steady hands a surgeon serving him as well _spilling_ blood as containing it.

“Ten men,” she says, tense and poised, full of coiled menace, curled along her arms, bitter in the back of her throat. “Try not to shoot me.”

“River-” he says again, his hand on her arm questioning rather than restraining.

“No time.” Gunfire echoes, sounding from a high source, and she _risks_ , peeks, spotting a muzzle flash from the warehouse roof. Raise, aim, squeeze – no sense in _wishing_ for one of Jayne's rifles – and duck. “Nine,” she says briefly, eyes wide, mind already weapon-gone, already four steps in the future. “I won't die, Simon. Didn't say goodbye. Wouldn't be right.”

The rest pour into the yard then, and she darts from cover, drawing them down, away from those in her care.

Another shot – fired as she ducks into a new metal _sanctuary_ – and they're all armored, of course, but all armor has its weak points. Another set of factors in her calculations, makes no difference to her brain, buzzing and humming and _alive_ , making her feel sick, drained away and empty of everything but _now_ , everything down to one deadly purpose. Eight.

Thirty seconds gone now, and one man creeps too close; she springs, catching him by the arm, forcing a quick pivot so he catches friendly fire, down, _out_ , Seven.

The armor slows them, dampens agility, and Six is on the ground before he can react, knee bending backwards, his sharp scream cut short.

Five gets close, bullet a wasp-whine past her ear before she recovers, moving in point-blank range now; fires neat and clean, avoiding the resulting red mist like the bullets raining in her wake without thinking, brain _stripped_ to a core of practical motion and motivation, no feeling, no personality.

Simon's fire distracts Four, letting her slide in behind – a simple matter to slip the strap of his weapon around his neck, twist, _snap_.

Down to three now – even odds, solid and predictable, gamble turning to _surety_ as something familiar hums along the bare edge of her consciousness, the little silver shuttle flying low overhead.

As she breaks the wrist of Three, feels the _crack_ of vertebrae against the force of her kick, Vera's voice roars out. It's messy but effective on Two, and then there is just One, and River, blank, cold, spotless and perfect as her boot meets his face.

Slightly over a minute, all told, and now there are none, zero, nothing. The adrenaline clears, like mist from her eyes, letting her focus widen, letting her see through the others, see herself as _weapon-warrior-defender-destroyer_.

From Jayne, busily looting, _admiration_ , never gained from him by anything but force. From Zoë, making a sweep of the area, tactical, regimented, there's _respect_ , clean and simple.

Simon, reaching out to her, taking the gun from her limp hand, running careful eyes and hands over her, gives quiet _thanks_ , with his thoughts and his hands, tearing a strip of shirt to bind a scrape she'd failed to notice.

All this is nothing though, meaningless as the sunlight pouring down – bright and innocent even shining on bloody ground – when her father looks at her, his thoughts an outpouring of fear, of _horror_ , of uncomprehending dread.

Without a word, she turns, brushing aside Simon's hands, avoiding Zoë's careful glance, seeking solace in the shuttle, in the small space of home.

***

She doesn't listen on the way back, doesn't want to hear, even for the flight's short span. She _knows_ , peripherally, when Zoë takes one look at her, crumpled and quiet, sitting sightless on the floor, and takes to the controls herself; knows too, in the same absent way, when Jayne's voice grumbles into the com; knows it's Mal on the other end, even when all she hears of his voice is _relief_ , and _love_ , and a bit of _bring-her-back-so-I-can-kill-her-myself_ , rather than the simple frame of his words, terse and quick.

She's existed here before, in the empty space between _person_ and _tool_ ; their jobs, their lives, never do run smooth, try as they might, and she learned anew, first time one of her crew got injured on a job (Zoë's thigh, turning red as her skin went grey and River _snapped_ ), that pushing herself into action, into _use_ , was better by far than watching helpless.

Before there's always been Mal; Mal who knows and understands, lets her hide for a time in his mind, as much as he's able, bringing up memories of horses and cattle, of ranch dogs running in close-clipped fields, a boy on a pony at their heels.

Here no one understands, because she can't explain the _need_ to hide, to flee the empty feeling, to run from the schism built between the parts of her, the fear that a time will come when she'll call the weapon up, and not be able to turn it _off_.

She tries, for a time, to dig through Simon's mind, Simon who never minds her _invasions_ into what should be his alone, who would give her all he had. Buried deep there's a dance recital, and she watches her smaller self spinning on stage, pirouettes and jetés and the sense of freedom in the regimented forms of the dance. This, _this_ is adequate, and more; it _pushes_ the right spot in her own memory, until she sees it with two sets of eyes, performing and watching both, her muscles relaxing, soothed, a smile on her face.

It's a voice that shatters her peaceful image, a voice not in her own head but in Simon's, as he listens to their father speak; their father who is still bewildered, still horrified, now more out of place than ever.

“She's smiling,” he says, voice cold and flat as the metal under her fingers. “ _Wo de tian_ , she just killed people and she's _smiling_.”

“Well, she _was_ smiling,” Simon offers, eyes all for her, moving across the shuttle to sit next to her, taking her hand in his, heedless of the blood darkening over her knuckles.

“Can't cry for every soul,” she says, leaning her head back, feeling the cold of the wall seep into her skull, wishing it could freeze her brain, shut down her thoughts one by one, leave her mind in hibernation. “Just doing a job, to them. Would have killed you all and not cared for the slaughter.”

“I had no idea,” their father whispers. “No idea how dangerous they'd made you. What you've become...”

“Will you shut up, please?” Simon says, trying to block the tide, to keep out the _bad_ seeping in to her mind from his thoughts, but it's too far gone, too late, because his mouth may have shut down from shock, but her father's thoughts run on.

A strange and wild creature, too sharp, too dangerous to have a place in his world. Too dangerous to be kept safe anywhere, a _risk_. One he's unwilling to take.

“Make it stop,” she says, quietly, not certain now if her voice speaks through her throat or only in her thoughts. The dreams and dark places in her head are swimming again, rising up from the deeps where they'd hid themselves, drawing back under rocks, secreting themselves in scars while love and trust rebuilt reality around her. There are faces here, and voices, all those who'd used and betrayed her peering in from the shadows, and all those she'd killed, all those she'd watched die, in front of her, behind her, through their own eyes – all gathered around, whispering, reaching out with hands pale and stained, blood on the outside.

When she hears Mal's voice among them, she categorizes it as another cruel _trick_ of her mind, just another thing one part of her uses in trying to break the rest. Then she's aware, dimly, of Simon's head turning towards the sound, of the fuzzy quality overlaid on Mal's voice, of Zoë's short answers, flicking back over the com.

“ _One of you take our guest down to the passenger dorms, make sure he stays there_ ,” his voice says, and Zoë looks at Jayne, talking with her eyes loud enough for even Jayne to hear, because he nods and gets up, ignoring the slight jar of the shuttle docking, to leer at their father, Vera still in hand.

They're close enough now that River hears Mal twice over, his thoughts calling out to her, loud and direct on purpose, overlaid and underpinning the radio-voice. _Concentrate_ , they say, and _Why'd you go and do that_ , and immediately, _Yes, I_ know _why, I'm sorry_.

His speaking-voice, sounding wound tight even at this distance, says, “ _Simon, you go on down with your father, see that he don't have cause to complain. River -_ ” _Serenity_ hums and hovers under them, Mal lifting her off too quick as always, rough around the edges; maybe that's the cause of his hesitation, but River doesn't believe it, leaning more towards reticence, a consciousness of his audience. “ _You just stay there, I'll come for you._ ”

 _You wait for me this time, darlin', I mean it_ , his thoughts admonish, and she curls in on herself, tucking her body firmly into the wall, so that _Serenity_ , at least, knows she means to stay still. Even from here, she knows the moment the ship takes hold of her own flight, the little stretch and kick she gives, a cat waking from a long nap.

It seems a long age, an eon where surely the ship must have rusted away into brown-red dust, old metal blood blowing away on the wind, before Mal comes; Jayne and Simon moving in slow motion, leading her father away, the floor beneath her and Zoë's hand resting on her shoulder the only points of reality.

When Mal comes, finally (it seems like _finally_ , but his steps tell her, hurried and slightly off rhythm, that it's been as quick as he'd allow himself to be), she remembers that this is everything she didn't want him to see, everything fragile and broken, a helpless anchor-weight waiting to bring him down. Zoë's hand is there, then, a lever to pull herself up with, and River thinks Zoë understands the need to _appear_ strong perfectly well, Zoë who is the rock they're all founded on.

He looks to Zoë first, when he comes in; checking in out of old habit, messages passing between them at a glance. His eyes, when they turn then to River, are burning, and his mouth is tight; still, he does his best, trying to smile even as he glances over her, military precision assessing her condition for himself.

“Hate to say it, darlin', but you look terrible.”

The words are nothing, a _deflection_ , a screen for what's behind them; still, it's what breaks her, and she finds herself in his arms, burying her face against his neck, breathing him in.

“Take me home,” she whispers, muffled to the point of being inaudible, she suspects; but he hears, he _knows_ nonetheless, leading her off through the ship, images of Shadow under sun filling her mind, supporting her with his entire world.


	8. Explain the Life

_VIII. Explain the Life_

Seems perfectly natural to him, somehow, to think of Shadow when she asks him for home, even though it hasn't been his home for more'n a decade now, and never was hers; even though those are thoughts he's usually none too keen to dwell on, not needing to think on any home other than _Serenity_. It's almost like he can feel her there with him, riding along through the fields of the old ranch, making memory a little less lonesome for the both of them.

Must be the same strange sense of natural that's made him bring her down to his own bunk, rather than hers; that, or he just wasn't thinking any too hard about where he was going, but either way he's managed to get the both of them safely sitting on the bed, and even if she is shaking like a leaf, she ain't crying, and that's got to be a good sign.

Still, he's not used to seeing her this way, not anymore. Times when she went squirrely over every little thing are long past now, soothed by drugs and security and some kind of understanding of just what kind of horrors had driven her sense away in the first place.

Would have been nice if he'd had a chance to talk to Zoë or Simon, get a read on what the hell had gone on out there. Only so much a man could guess at, even one so well versed in the ways of things going to hell and back as he was.

“Men came after us,” she says, voice all strained and tied up. He might've known she'd read what he wanted, and try and deliver even if it hurt her to do it. “From the Academy. Followed my father, traced him right from Osiris. Waited patient, spiders in a web. Wanted to make prey of us. So I killed them. Killed them all.”

Mal does his best to suppress his thoughts of just what he'd like to do with her father – even if the man hadn't led his children straight into danger on purpose, he had to be one hell of an idiot not to notice he was being tracked across several planets – and thinks instead on the times he's seen River fight for him, for the crew. Always brings her down a bit, especially if there's any killing involved, but never quite this bad, far as he can recall.

“Wasn't the same,” she says, picking up where his thoughts left off again. Strange how he don't really find that so unnerving anymore. “Not like a barfight with thugs. Too complex for thought, have to rely on reflexes, movements that don't belong to me.” The pitch of her voice rises, and he can feel her fingers flexing against his arm, like she's doing her best to hold on to something. “I don't like being that way.”

“Shh, darlin',” he says, holding her tighter. “Did what you had to, ain't nobody gonna blame you for that.”

“Makes me something else,” she says, her voice quavering. He knows the terror and anxiety she's feeling, knows damn well there ain't a thing he can do to stop it for her but give her somewhere to pour it out. “It takes away feeling,” she says slowly, like she's just now able to puzzle it out. “Builds up behind a dam, washes everything away in a wave. Feel nothing but the movement.” She looks up at him with a lost expression he knows all too well, remembers from soldiers who'd done too much killing. “It makes me empty.”

“And that ain't a good thing?” he asks carefully, doing his best to feel out where she needs him to go.

“I never know if I can control it.” She buries her head against his chest, takes a shuddering breath. “Doesn't matter when it's people who deserve hurt. But what if it wasn't?”

Her eyes, when she looks up at him, are brimming with tears, and he can hardly keep control of himself, has to push back the weight of his rage, knowing it won't do her a bit of good to be feelin' that from him right now. “I trust you, River. We all trust you. Know full well you're a person and not a weapon.”

“Maybe I'm whatever someone can make of me. Dangerous. Risky,” she whispers sadly, but she lets him pull her down, lies peacefully enough in his arms. 

He's beginning to wonder if she's drifted into sleep when she speaks again. “Mal?”

“Yes, darlin'?”

She curls the fingers of one hand around his, holding on tight. “If it happened – if I couldn't control myself here, if something made me hurt one of you...” she pauses, and he feels his blood freeze, having a good guess at where she's headed. “Would you be able to do it?”

He remembers having this talk, in slightly different form, once before, can still hear Jayne's voice in his mind – _She goes wooly again, we're gonna have to put a bullet to her_ – and even then, even as he'd said, and meant, ' _Thought's crossed my mind,_ ' it had made him sick.

“You couldn't do it before,” she says, reading him again, shifting to look at him. “I don't want to be that, Mal. Don't let it consume me. Not ever.”

Course, he knows deep down that it wouldn't much matter. If she went violent and he took her down, he'd like as not never come back from it, be dead just as sure as if he let her kill him. He speaks quickly, wrenching his mind from that path. “That's what you got those code words for. So's that don't have to happen.”

“Might not always work. They didn't have any to use today. Don't know what's in my head – not you, not Simon, not even me. Please, Mal,” she says softly, and he thinks this surely has to be the strangest promise a woman's ever asked him for.

“I'd take you down, if there wasn't any other choice. One way or another.” His thoughts say more, beg her to never mention this again, to leave it to nightmares where it rightly belongs.

He knows she hears from the way she tucks herself right up against him, using her body to tell him right now she's still here, whole and alive. “Thank you,” she says, taking his hand between hers and putting her lips to it.

Though the bunk is silent and still after that, it's a long stretch of time before he feels her relax against him, before he hears the change in her breathing and feels sure enough that she'll stay asleep to untangle himself and head back up into the ship.

Not that he doesn't feel a bit guilty, leaving her there on her own, but he's got a job of his own to do. Never did like having strangers on his boat, and this one in particular ain't like to find much welcome.

***

It takes so long for Mal to make his way down towards the passenger dorms – what with making certain they were free of pursuit, confirming their course with Zoë, and checking up on Kaylee in a suspiciously quiet engine room – that by all rights he should've calmed down some.

But it don't take more than the sight of Simon, with his air of stillness and the shadows in his eyes looking so much like his sister's, to remind him just why he was so riled up in the first place.

“You wanna explain to me why I just had to sit through your sister asking me for a promise to kill her if she should get out of hand?” It's abrupt, Mal knows, and awful unfair to the doc, who so far as he knows hasn't done anything wrong today but go along with River's muddle-headed plan, but there's more emotion than logic in Mal's head just now.

“I – _what_?” Getting up from the sofa in the lounge, Simon rubs his eyes, looking a good five years older than he had that morning. “Why would she say something like that?”

“That's what I'm askin' you. I've seen her upset over killin' folk before – I know she don't get a lot of pleasure outta fighting. But never like this. She's got herself all worked up again over bein' a danger to the lot of us.”

Simon's mouth opens and closes again without saying a word, the set of his jaw letting Mal know the doc's got plenty of his own anger hiding behind his pretty face. “Our father – he was...shocked, let's say, by River's abilities. I've tried to explain it to him just now, but – well. He flat out said she was dangerous; I can only imagine what more she might have picked up from his thoughts.”

“Take it that much to heart, would she?”

Simon shrugs, all the anger drained out of him like water through a sieve. “She loved him very much.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Shaking his head, Mal whips around the corner, tossing back over his shoulder, “Go on 'n find Kaylee, make sure she knows you're not plannin' on running off. Ain't gonna need you here for a while.”

“Captain – wait.”

Outside the passenger dorms, Mal pauses, waiting for Simon to catch up with him. “You got somethin' needs saying, doc?”

Simon hesitates, looking to the wall as though he could see through it to the man inside. “What are you planning to...he is still our father, Mal.”

Mal's got the urge to respond with something along the lines of _gonna give the bastard exactly what he deserves_ , but the sight of River's face peering at them as she comes down the stairs, sweet and sad and still just a bit sleepy, makes him hold his tongue. “I'm not gonna hurt him. But nobody comes on my boat that I don't meet. And I got me a little curiosity to satisfy. Won't be but a few minutes, I'm sure.”

After a moment, Simon nods, backs away. “He won't like you.”

“Don't much expect him to,” Mal says, walking to the end of the hallway and opening the door.

The man who meets his eyes isn't anything overly special, by his standards – fussily dressed, neat, stiff posture. Puts Mal in mind of what Simon might've been twenty years down the line if he'd stayed in the Core. He doesn't back down though, facing Mal's best glare without a shadow of concern on his face. In that, Mal thinks, he's like his children – too damn proud to be intimidated, the lot of them. He's always harbored some admiration for that quality in Simon and River, but in their father, it's nothing but another mark against him.

“Well now, Mr Tam,” he says, not bothering to sit down, “thought I should come have a bit of a chat with you. We've all agreed it's for the best if I don't introduce myself, leave you knowin' as little as possible 'bout where your children make their home now, for all our sakes. But I figured that don't mean I couldn't stop in, make you welcome for what little time your sorry self is gonna be here.”

Gabriel Tam, Mal finds, is one of those people who can manage to look down their noses even at someone who's standing over them. 

“I assume you must be the Captain of this ship then, though I find that somewhat hard to believe.”

“Really now? And here I thought my ship and I made a fine matching pair.”

Gabriel takes a quick glance around the room, raising an eyebrow as his eyes settle back on Mal, chilly as a winter frost. “Indeed, now that I've met you, I certainly agree with that statement. It's only that my children told me – well. My daughter fancies herself in love with _you_?”

Mal smiles as he pulls up a chair and settles in; if the man wants to be offensive, Mal's had more'n enough practice at that over the years. “Well now, she ain't said it in so many words, but she sure does have a way of actin' like it,” he says, leaning back and putting on his most self-satisfied grin.

“Forgive me, Captain, if I say you're not exactly what I had in mind for her.”

Mal feels his fingers curling into a fist, keeps his voice calm with an effort. “Look, Gabe – can I call you Gabe? – seeing as how, from my point of view, it seems you ain't had much of anything in mind for her these past years but forgettin' she ever existed, you'll forgive me if I don't give a good gorram what you think.”

“Do you think any of this is what we had in mind for her?” Gabriel says, gesturing to the room around them. “That we thought, when we sent our genius daughter off to school, that she would end up what and where she is?”

“ _What_ she is?” Mal says, his voice going cold. “Last I checked, River was a _who_. A woman who'd been thrown away by near everyone in the 'verse who was supposed to care for her. But those of us on this boat are real keen on seein' her as a person, not a thing, so you wanna think very carefully on your choice of words here.”

Gabriel's eyes narrow. “We had no intention of throwing her away. What it would have meant to stand up to those people, to go against the _government_ – it simply wasn't feasible. You don't know.”

“Oh, but I _do_ know,” Mal says, rising from his seat so quickly Gabriel flinches. “I've gone through things for her that you can't even begin to imagine. And I'd be willin' to do it all again, which is a hell of a lot more than could ever be said for you.” The older man says nothing as Mal moves closer, looming over him. “Here's what you don't understand, Mr Tam. Ain't nobody on this boat who wouldn't be willin' to lay down their life for any of the others. Your children understand that, made themselves a part of it. Proven it more'n once, both of 'em. That's the kind of people they are. What I don't understand is how they ever got to be that way, raised by a man who left his daughter in the hands of butchers cause he was scared of losin' his place in the world.”

It's a moment before Mal regains control of himself, moves back to his seat. “Took a long time to convince River there were those as believed the worth of her outweighed any risk she posed. Seems it ain't taken you more'n a day to undo that, so you got anything to say for yourself, give me a reason why I shouldn't shove you out the airlock, best get it out now.”

“Idle threats do not become you, Captain. My children wouldn't stand for such a thing.”

“You really wanna bet on who they've got more loyalty to now? Don't push me,” Mal says, a world of darkness in his tone.

Gabriel sighs, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “They would have ruined us, Captain. Surely you must know what Simon gave up to rescue her – his fortune, his career, his entire future. Frankly, I have no idea how he's managed to keep going all this time. How he managed to get her out of there in the first place, to keep her both safe and under control. Maybe it was easier for him, being younger. Maybe he had more hope, more belief that it was possible to fight the government. But,” he says, looking pointedly at Mal, “those of us with more experience in life know that is a fight you do not win.”

Mal sits back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Yet seems to me that's just what Simon went out and did.”

“And what would have happened to them if they'd found themselves on a different ship? One with a crew less inclined to aid fugitives and more interested in cooperating with the government? How much more difficult do you think it would have been for a family of four to hide themselves, rather than just two? Make no mistake, Captain, I know it can only be by incredible luck that they've managed to survive this long.”

“Luck?” Mal shakes his head. “May have been luck that your boy chose us out of all the ships he could have taken, but since then, luck ain't had a part in it. Been a hell of a lot of work, keepin' them safe and hid. But unlike you, it's work I've been willin' to take on. Cause they're _mine_ now, you understand? And where I come from, somebody threatens you and yours, you fight like hell for 'em. And you never leave someone behind.”

It's the set of Gabriel's shoulders that gives him away, slumping just a bit, like a man defeated, and he avoids Mal's eyes, his voice quiet. “We never meant for it. Any of it. But there comes a time when you have to turn your back on plans and ideas that are obvious suicide. If that makes me a coward, if you think it makes me and my wife poor parents and terrible people, then so be it. But I did come looking for Simon. As soon as a – a friend of ours, in the government, let it be known to us that Simon and River were no longer officially considered fugitives, I started looking. It's simply taken me this long to get anywhere.” He looks up, ghost of a smile on his face. “You people do a very good job of hiding. Especially since I had so little to go on. People out here are...less than willing to talk, I've found.”

Mal snorts. “Then you ain't been bribing them enough.” Running a hand through his hair, he rises, finding he's no longer got the heart to fight with this man. “Look, Mr Tam – when Simon and River first came here, all they had in the 'verse was each other. Now they got the rest of us too, and while I can't speak for them, I don't conjure they'll be any too eager to be leavin' us behind for you.”

He's got a hand on the door when Gabriel speaks again. “Wait.” He pauses for a moment, studying Mal carefully. “Do you love my daughter?” 

Shaking his head, Mal lets out a hollow laugh. “What in the name of hell gives you the right to be askin'?”

“She is still my child,” he says, shoulders squared and stiff as a fence post again. “Even after all that's happened – it would be good to be able to tell her mother that River is loved.” There's some spark of honesty in his eyes now, something in his expression that brings to mind River's face, and Simon's, makes Mal's tone softer even if his words ain't.

“You think I'd go to the bother of hatin' you so damn much if I didn't love her?”

He turns away without giving Gabriel the chance to answer, if there's any answer to be made. Figures, though, that the man's daughter has one, and that she's waiting right outside the door to give it.

“You don't say it enough,” River says softly, talking to him like there wasn't anybody else in the room. “But neither do I.”

Shouldn't be any surprise either that she thinks now's the perfect time to take his face between her hands and kiss him, sweet and slow, full on the mouth, a thing that would've been a hell of a lot more enjoyable if he hadn't been half expecting to hear the protests of an angry father at any second.

“I'm sorry,” she says, fingers still warm against his temples, helm-calloused thumbs stroking over his cheekbones. As a way of saying _I love you_ , he's gotta admit it's absolutely ridiculous – and, coming from River, the biggest admission he's likely to get.

“It's alright, darlin',” he says and takes her by the hand, leading her out and away without a glance back.


	9. You Who Are My Home

_IX. You Who Are My Home_

There's silence between them – silence with such depths, such sharp sudden drops hiding in it that she chooses to listen to memory, to pull from the conversation between Mal and her father, to surround herself in the words of his protectiveness.

“Ain't right to eavesdrop, you know,” he says, looking at her sideways, pushing the door of her bunk open with his foot.

“You do it all the time,” she points out, lowering herself down, trying to fill the silence, to keep away from the drops, waiting all around her.

“Yeah, but it's my boat,” he says, following her, closing the door behind him, a dull thud cutting them off, sealing them away together.

“Mal,” she says, taking a deep breath, pushing herself _forwards_ against all instinct, because his thoughts tell her he won't have it any other way, because she knows now _hiding_ has failed her, “it's not alright, is it?”

“No,” he admits, and she stares, looking in vain for any trace of humor, the wry wall of defense he keeps between himself and anything he wants to deny is _serious_. But there's nothing, only his eyes, steady and sober on her, and she feels a sick _twist_ , a sharp plunge of panic. “We can't be having secrets between us like this. I won't have it, not on my boat, and surely not in my bed.”

Her mind doesn't want to focus, everything old and negative rising, fear and the cold dark of abandonment barely held back by the barriers of logic and memory and the sudden grasp of his hand on hers. “River, darlin', you gotta trust me. You don't trust me, I can't trust you; we ain't got trust between us, there's no _us_ to be had.”

She breathes, and waits, keeping herself locked quiet and still, until she's certain he has no more to say. “But you still love me?”

The creases in his forehead deepen, and the corners of his mouth pull, playing tug-of-war trying to suppress a smile. “Course I do, albatross. Can be mad at a person and still love 'em at the same time, you know.”

“I do frequently want to hug Simon and lock him in the infirmary simultaneously,” she agrees, thoughts wandering tangential before she reins them in, knowing that securing _love_ is not enough, that he is waiting still, _respect_ and _trust_ held in the balance.

“I was scared,” she says, wanting to twist her hands together in her lap, held back by Mal's fingers, twining through hers, binding her firmly to him. “Didn't want you to think I was broken again. Didn't want to need saving, for you to see me as pieces. Can't love a girl who isn't whole.”

This time, his silence doesn't frighten her, doesn't hold anything secret, just feelings and thoughts tangled and twisted up as her own, and his voice, when he finally speaks, is quiet and low, heavy with it. “You gotta trust that there are people in this world other than Simon who'll love you no matter what. Lots of people tried to change my mind on how I should see you since you came onto this boat,” he says, voice growing firmer, chasing away the last of her fear. “And the only one who ever managed it was you.”

In that moment, she's aware of everything; _Serenity's_ wall, cradling her back, the hum of her engine in flight setting vibrations through River's blood; Mal's hand in hers, smooth and rough where their callouses meet and catch, the marks of their lives and loves coming together in miniature.

And a voice, once more repeating a lesson she never quite managed to learn.

_It's not about making sense. It's about believing in something, and letting that belief be real enough to change your life._

“I believed you could love me,” she says, slowly, feeling the balance within her shift, fulcrum-point. “So much that you believed it too, and it happened.”

“Somethin' like that, albatross. And I know full well you're whole and safe and perfect just as you are cause it's what I believe, _dong ma_? Don't you let anybody tell you otherwise.”

“All right,” she says, everything in her relaxing, receding, leaving her nearly giddy with relief, with the reassurance of solid ground underneath her. “No more secrets.”

“Good,” he says, settling back against the wall, holding her against him, not seeming to mind a bit when she twists around to face him.

“You realize this likely means you'll never be rid of me?” she asks, mocking and serious, all wound up together.

“Lucky me,” he says, tightening his hold, and everything in him, voice and expression and thoughts all as one, telling her clear and firm how _serious_ he is.

***

When they set down on the other side of Persephone next morning (well, some twelve hours later, at least – flying circles around a planet tends to throw off any linear concept of time, and far as Mal knows or cares, it could be yesterday morning), he's barely slept a wink, what with one thing and another, but damned if he don't feel full of energy anyhow.

Walking through the passenger lounge, he catches a glimpse in the dorms of Kaylee, looking like she's polished herself clean and all gussied up in one of her pretty dresses, chatting away with Mr Tam, Simon standing protectively at her back. Just might be possible all his energy today's due to the knowledge he'll be rid of that particular bit of dead weight within the hour.

“Doc, a word?” he asks, leaning in through the door.

“ _Bao bei_ , do you mind...?” Simon might as well not have bothered asking, way Kaylee's hand waves him off, flow of her words running right along like nobody else'd spoken.

“Now, they ain't gonna have as many transports this side of the planet, but that don't mean you gotta get on some junker. Hold out for somethin' as looks like she can go the distance, and don't let 'em go overcharging you...”

“So,” Mal says, glancing back over his shoulder as he leads Simon off towards the cargo bay, “Kaylee's meetin' with her new daddy-in-law's going pretty well, huh?”

“Well, he's stopped trying to get a word in edgewise, which is quite an accomplish- wait.” Simon stops in the middle of the empty space, all kinds of suspicions running across his face. “How did you know that I – that we mean to be married?”

“Really think you can keep a secret in this place, sister like yours hanging about?” Mal asks. “But as it happens, was Kaylee herself who told me, while you were out trying to get yourself killed yesterday. Been meanin' to say congratulations.” Simon's still got a look on his face best described as _wary_ , but he manages a respectable handshake anyhow, and Mal remembers that while the doc's hands may be pale and smooth, surgical practice has also made them damn strong. “Though honestly,” he continues, keeping his grip on Simon's hand, making it into a game of _who'll-wince-first_ , “think if you were gonna go all fussy and start askin' for blessings and the like, you might've come to your Captain first off.”

Simon's eyebrows rise a fraction of an inch; amazing how much haughtiness that little bit of movement can put on someone's face. “Kaylee doesn't belong to you, and neither do I,” he says, and Mal would swear he don't see or feel any kind of movement, but suddenly his hand is aching something fierce and holding nothing but empty air.

“Wouldn't say you do,” he says, trying to keep his voice smooth and easy while surreptitiously trying to shake some life back into his fingers. “Though you do both work for me. And live on my ship. But that ain't the point.”

“What is?” Simon asks, ice cold, arms folded.

Mal can't help but let a bit of a grin escape; all this time on board and the doc's still so stiff he's like to tip over if given a nudge. “Point is, I like to think we're all friends here, doc. Would've been nice to have a bit more notice, so's we could get the two of you moved into a bigger bunk. If y'all are gonna insist on getting properly wed, least we can do is treat you like it.”

Doc's astonishment is evident, mostly from the way he can't seem to spit out a proper sentence. “Oh, I – that's...really, it's very kind-”

“After all,” Mal says, taking pity on Simon in his own special way, “don't know how Kaylee 'n you deal with it, but River complains something fierce 'bout the tiny beds in those bunks of ours. Ain't hardly a night that passes without my hands endin' up someplace I didn't mean 'em to be. Though that's not always such a bad thing, course.”

Simon's mouth snaps shut, his fumbling for words mercifully over with. “I suppose I deserve that,” he says after a moment and a deep breath.

Mal shrugs. “Possible I just like needlin' you. Gotta admit though, I find it strange you think it's okay takin' up with Kaylee – who you know's like a sister to the lot of us – yet you can't seem to get over the idea of _your_ sister being with me.”

The look Simon shoots him ain't exactly friendly, but it does seem to border on amused, which is something. “The two situations aren't quite the same, and I think you know that perfectly well, Captain. But you're right.”

“Now, look – wait, I am?”

Yup, doc's definitely amused now. “Yes. Hard as that may be to believe for both of us.” He sighs, sitting on a nearby crate, waiting till Mal takes up a leaning position opposite him that may not be exactly relaxed, but don't fit the bill for hostile either. “I know I haven't been supportive of your relationship, to say the least. And part of that was due to exactly the reasons you'd expect. She's young, and fragile, and you're...” he waves a hand around helplessly, settles on, “not. But I think it was also because – it felt like she was being taken from me again.”

Mal shifts against the crates at his back, wondering exactly what he's supposed to make of that statement. “Doc, you gotta know-”

“Please.” Simon holds his hand up, cutting off further speech, staring off into space. “Let me finish. For so long on this ship, I felt like she was my responsibility, like I was the only one who could help her – not that the rest of you didn't do what you could, but ultimately I was the one who had to care for her, the one who couldn't possibly walk away. That kept me from building any life of my own here for so long. And then,” he says, looking straight up at Mal, “she'd no sooner stabilized, approaching something normal again, before she was off making her own life. With you.”

Funny, how he knows perfectly well _Serenity's_ on firm ground, yet Mal still feels like it's shifting under his feet. “Ain't that what you wanted?” he ventures. “To have her more independent and all?”

“It is. At least, I thought it was.” Simon shakes his head. “I guess I'm just not used to sharing her. To being in a place where she doesn't need me.”

Of all the fool things Mal's heard on his boat these past few days, that has got to be one of the dumbest. “Don't think that's nearly so. Was you she went to 'bout this tangle with your father, not me. She's always gonna need you – and don't go thinking I like that idea any more than you like her needin' me – but the way I see it, that means you and I gotta work out a way to get along better than we have been.”

When he offers Simon a hand up, the doc just stares at the floor a bit, waiting long enough that it's almost a surprise when he finally takes it. “I'm sure we can manage something, Mal.”

“Course we can,” Mal says, slapping Simon on the back, making him stumble. “Think of it this way, doc – you're not losin' your sister, you're just gainin' yourself a brother.”

And after all, Mal thinks, shoulders shaking with silent laughter as he walks away from a mighty pale Simon, what's family for, if not to get under each other's skin whenever possible?

***

The sunlight, on this point of Persephone, shines down warm and clear, a light on the edge of a season, and River leans into it, listening to the distant babble of the marketplace, holding fast to the cables and struts along _Serenity's_ ramp, her toes poised over the dividing line of ship and sand.

“Going somewhere, River?” Zoë asks from behind her, from the space between shadows and light.

“No,” she says, feeling the light make itself heat on her skin, the breeze playing through her hair, hundreds of tiny fingers through the strands. “Staying above. Awaiting his return.”

“Ah. Captain's gone out, then?”

River nods, and then catches herself, freezing in the act, struck and spun about not by the simple words of Zoë's question, but by the lack of hesitation in it, the evenness of her tone, as near to _statement_ as _question_. For Zoë, there is no need to ask _who_ , no need to know why River waits, no interest in the _what_ or _how_ of it; she simply chooses to absorb, and understands.

“You accept,” she says, turning, drawing her toes over the metal edge to pivot, shoulder blades to the sun. “You don't question what I say, how I say it. You understand that I am a person, and don't think me odd for it.”

“Well,” Zoë says, leaning against the ship's edge, hair turned to shine and gloss, strung out by the wind into the light, “wouldn't exactly say you're normal. But I expect we've all gotten used to you.”

From Zoë, of course, these words mean all the more – Zoë, who's watched River take her husband's place, even if River never sits in his chair, never aspires to be all the pieces that Wash was.

Her own pieces and parts still swim in disarray around her, like stars blurring in the black at full burn, her hands never fast enough to grasp them all, never able to hold every part together at once.

“How do you do it?” she asks Zoë, standing there strong and solid and whole. “How are you able to fill multiple roles at the same time? You were wife and friend, partner and foundation and first mate, all carried inside you.”

For a moment, confusion swirls around Zoë, a screen of dust over her features before it clears, before she shines out clear once again. “Ain't so difficult, little one. All those roles are there, all the time – which one comes out just depends on the situation, and on who's doin' the looking.”

“I don't understand,” River says. “Parts of a whole must always be present for the whole to exist, and a whole is only the sum of its parts. Can't pick and choose which pieces to see when they're all there, always.”

“Right. But see – let's say you're with the Captain on the bridge. There he's gonna see you as who he's got flying his ship, and that ain't quite the same as the woman he sees down in his bunk at night. And they're both different from the sister that Simon sees. But they're all still River. It's other people who make you into different parts. You make yourself into a whole.”

This nearly makes sense to River, a world of mirrors held up to each other, endless reflections caught in a net comprising _self_. “What about parts you don't want? Parts that are dangerous?”

The look Zoë gives her is sharp, so much knowing in it River wonders if _reading_ could possibly be contagious. “It's no bad thing to be able to defend yourself, defend the people you love,” she says. “Just means it's a piece that's gotta be respected, held under control.”

“Do you believe I can control it?”

“River,” Zoë says, “you think for one second I'd let you near my people if I didn't have faith in you?”

 _Considering_ what she knows of Zoë – the hard edges, the practicality, the firm compassion that never bleeds into sentimentality – leads instantly to the answer. “No.”

“Damn right,” Zoë says, turning into sounds from the cargo bay, muffled steps and voices expanding nearer, revealing themselves as Simon and Kaylee. “Fact that you know to be worried about it makes me believe you'll be fine.”

River wonders, watching Simon's careful stillness, face set in familiar patterns, and Kaylee's muted brilliance, her bounce subdued, if they will be _fine_ ; if Kaylee's heart has been too misgiving for her to overcome, or for Simon to forgive.

“River,” Simon says, taking her by the hand, ready as ever to guide her, direct her course, “it's almost time.” In the blue shadows beyond them, she can see, dimly through her sun-dazzled eyes, a figure that must be her father, waiting frozen and silent.

“We should change the lighting sources,” she says to Kaylee, an absent bit of thought-made-speech. “Gives the appearance of winter, cold and harsh. Should be spring again.”

Focus _pulls_ on her, pulls her back from the mundane, and on impulse, she reaches out, fingers brushing Kaylee's shoulder, light over the bright pattern of her dress. “You gave him new dreams, when he lost the old ones. He would never believe you weren't enough.”

Kaylee wraps Simon's free arm in hers, a calm ocean flowing over them, bonded and full of _peace_. “I know it,” she says, giving him a squeeze, everything about them telling River they are past _forgiveness_ , past _fine_.

She feels the contentment flow through them, spilling over from Simon's hand in her own, washing down over the deck, into the dust, flowing out in a long stream, and she knows without turning that Mal's approaching; knows it because she can feel the circle of _faith_ expanding around her, from Zoë opposite her, Simon and Kaylee at her side, Mal at her back. And from all around her, or maybe just within her own head – _parts_ within a whole, a _whole_ made up of parts – the Shepherd's voice, full of endless belief.

_It's about faith. You don't fix faith, River. It fixes you._

This, then, is her world, complete and correct, and comprised of her people, her family, both living and dead, by choice, by belief and faith alone. This world, as Mal comes up behind her, his hand at her back, is _perfect_ , and she no longer fears the definition, being willing to change the balance herself.

When she frees herself from their hands with smooth motions and crosses the floor to her father, from light into shadow, she is aware, acutely, of being under her own guidance, of walking a path purely her own.

“I've come to say goodbye,” she says, halting in front of him, watching him soothe away by an act of will the minute stiffness in his posture that developed at her approach. “I can't be sorry for who I am now, or for who I always was. It would be too hard for you, but this family accepts that. They are my home now.” 

This is the end, she knows, turning from him; there's nothing more to _expect_ from him, nothing to _desire_ of him, and so the tentative touch of his hand on her arm, caught by her mind before her nerves, surprises even her.

“Wait, please.” The movement of his hands, brushing hair back from her face, reminds her of wings, brings her for a moment back to a world where he had been loving and protective, and a little girl had believed him the best father in the 'verse. 

“River, I want you to know – we never had plans in place for your future because we knew, from the moment you began speaking, that you would go your own way in life.” He shakes his head, _rueful_ , she thinks, a man faced with children forever beyond him. “You've always been a whirlwind.” The words to say more are beyond him too, with even his thoughts running confused, love and sorrow in equal measure, the _whirlwind_ he's named her. Deep inside River, there is only calm, and the memory of the sun's warmth in her skin.

When she takes hold of his wrists to separate them, she is _careful_ – careful to be gentle, careful not to linger, to let go of the heartbeat under her fingers, this one last time. “I forgive you,” she says, and turns from him, walking across the cargo bay alone, unbowed.

Only Mal remains waiting for her at the ramp, hands busy with a knife and something pink and red and vibrant, the color whispering to her of life and love as she watches the others take her father up to shuttle, watches until he vanishes from her sight.

“Brought you a present,” Mal says, his voice bringing her back aboard _Serenity_ as he sets his treasure in her hand; a pomegranate, laid open and waiting. “Know you ain't been eating much, thought you might be hungry.”

“It's a good gift,” she says, staining her nimble fingers, savoring the tart seeds, one by one; six, a dozen. From the corner of her eye, she studies him, watches him watching her. “You believed I would leave,” she says, nonchalant, easy.

“Did no such thing,” he says, relaxation lost, eyes sharp on her. “Not for a minute.”

“No,” she agrees, “only for a few seconds. But you did.”

His eyes drop then, and he shrugs, thumbs tucked careful under his belt. “Well. You got stolen away from your old world, be only natural to want it back.” His voice is doing its best to be light, a smooth disguise to keep from catching, but his eyes, when they meet hers, are backed with _honesty_ , his thoughts a trail of _hope_. “And I didn't rightly know as you'd have reason to stay on with a man who never so much as said he loved you.” 

The bright color on her fingers stops them short, hovering just over his face. “Mal,” she says, trying to use her own face, her eyes and expression to project all the feeling her mind wants to share with his, “you don't say it. But I hear every time you _think_ it.” His thoughts light up with _understanding_ , and he thinks it then, clear and certain; a _warmth_ that turns to _heat_ , the corner of his mouth turning up as he takes her by the wrist, bringing her fingers to his lips, one by one, leaving them pale and clean once more, stealing her breath bit by bit until he lets go. 

Plucking seeds to stain them anew gains her both time and presence of mind, and when she speaks again, her tone is arch. “I hope you weren't expecting to share.”

He grins at her and pulls out another fruit, thoughts full of _promise_ for later. She nearly laughs aloud, happy she understands the logical _reality_ of emotions, or she'd surely believe her heart would burst, expanded beyond its limits, swollen with love.

“Knew I wouldn't be gettin' much of that one once I gave it to you. 'Sides,” he says, tossing the fruit in the air as he looks at her, eyes warm and crinkled and beautiful, “there's you and there's me, that makes two, right?”

This, at least, she knows the answer to, knows the ways now of _pieces_ and _wholes_ , of separate and unified. “No. It makes one,” she says, resting her head against his shoulder, up against her home.


End file.
